Chapter 90
Even if the same melody was held in one’s ears, the feeling it gave would inevitably differ greatly depending on the listener’s state of mind.
More than half of the people gathered in the music hall had never read the novel “Beethoven,” and had no interest in the novel itself.
On top of that, they were people who usually didn’t even listen to music all that much.
Then why had they come?
The answer was obvious.
Because the sun of the empire had risen there.
Of course, not everyone could enjoy the honor of meeting the emperor.
Some people who had a little more “priority” than others—those who had come to build social ties with the nobles—were there as well.
For them, music was merely entertainment.
No more than one of the talking points at the banquets that would be held all across the capital after the concert.
Such thoughts—
as Duke Schnaisen had already experienced while listening to the rehearsal—
- Bang, bang, bang, KWAANG──!
the moment the enormous whirlpool of fate, amplified even further by magic, shook the entire detached palace, those thoughts could only shatter to pieces.
A huge question mark rose above everyone’s heads in an instant.
In the strings’ mad dash, there was none of the softness, elegance, or nobility usually savored as background music in high society.
It was as if only the rough breathing of a man fighting desperately in pitch-black darkness filled the hall.
People who had spent their entire lives atop comfortable velvet chairs.
People who had lived their lives with others beneath them.
It was close to violence.
But—
As if a boy soldier thrown onto the battlefield were gradually becoming accustomed to that carnage, that violent melody began to seep into the nobles’ eardrums.
In particular, every man felt the same shiver at the exact same instant.
That music could make a person’s blood boil.
.
.
.
Even to those who knew music, that bold departure was shocking.
In a piano concerto, the usual tendency was for the other orchestral instruments and the piano to harmonize as they developed the musical ideas.
But immediately after a single E-flat major chord.
Before the orchestra had even fallen silent, the piano soloist’s slender fingers struck the keys.
As if following the notes, following the gentle movement of the hands.
The dazzling cadenza, as though silver fish were frolicking and ash-gray dreams were being engraved into it, shattered convention and boldly took its place as the star.
“Who is it?”
“I’ve never seen her before....”
“A mask?”
“Whoa, look at that.”
Even a familiar face or a famous name, it wasn't.
The name of the piano soloist listed in the booklet handed out before they entered was Hitori.
The red-haired woman in a mask had the keyboard, the piece itself, and even the entire stage completely in her grasp, manipulating them freely at will.
It was a piece they'd never heard before, but the musicians sensed it instinctively.
If performance had perfection.
Then this melody would be closest to perfection.
And the lyricism of the second movement that followed.
And the passion of the third movement when it returned, all of it was taken into their ears.
Everyone nodded as one.
Indeed.
This piece was worthy of bearing the name Emperor, and
it was a stage worthy of being dedicated to the emperor.
The emperor of the empire himself also smiled in satisfaction and bestowed his applause upon the performers.
Even if the concert had ended right there, it would have been an overwhelming success and a moment remembered by everyone in attendance.
But that was not the end.
Those who had been thrilled while listening to “Fate.”
Those who had been swept up in passion while listening to “Emperor.”
All of those moments melted into “Choral.”
* * *
Before they began preparing the performance in earnest.
“You want to stand on stage too?”
“……Pardon?”
Histoire couldn’t hide her startled expression after hearing Kim Yul’s words.
Well.
It was surprising enough that such words came out of Kim Yul’s mouth, the same mouth that always brought trouble on itself by spouting nonsense like, “Hey, Tin Can, your music has no soul,” and all sorts of other rubbish.
And the expression on Kim Yul’s face as he said it was extremely serious.
“Are you feeling sick? Should I prick your finger for you?”
Of the many possible replies, Histoire submitted what she judged to be the most reasonable answer.
Kim Yul scratched the back of his head, looking awkward for no reason.
“Well, honestly, this novel was... half written by you.”
Kim Yul wasn’t exactly wrong.
Unfortunately, there was no way the lab would have anything like YouTube Music Premium that worked across time and space.
Throughout the writing of the novel, Kim Yul had no choice but to rely solely on memories of his past life to express his impressions of music.
So he often asked Histoire to sing melodies for him, or play the piano, or even, when that still wasn’t enough, organize concerts.
And throughout all of that.
“You looked pretty happy.”
“……Me?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you notice?”
At those words,
Histoire ran through her perfect memory once more.
Come to think of it.
Without even realizing it,
there had been one more emotion, faint and just out of reach, from before.
When she grew curious after seeing Kim Yul and tried creating something for the first time.
When she held Estea in her arms and gently whispered stories to her.
And when she played the piano, prepared the first concert, and sang to her in a clear voice.
What she had felt in all those moments was
“Joy, then.”
“I figured that if it was just one piano concerto, and you were only joining as the soloist, it wouldn’t be that much of a burden. I think the others would probably accept it too.”
Kim Yul’s words were gentle, but
even so, something still seemed to remain in Histoire’s heart.
“Didn’t you say, ‘There is no soul in my music’?”
She had casually brushed it aside, but it had stuck like a thorn.
Kim Yul’s hand stroked her hair with a soft ruffle.
“I was joking, Tin Can.”
Histoire lifted her head and looked up at Kim Yul.
Looking at the sincere smile on the lips of her master, her charge, her hope,
Histoire deliberately put on a playful expression.
“I can do it, if it’s me!”
At that, Kim Yul laughed until he doubled over and scolded Histoire for deleting some of her community data.
* * *
After all the performances had ended.
Regrettably, or perhaps fortunately, the presence of the red-haired piano soloist had become somewhat blurred by the majestic chorus.
Of course, that didn’t mean her contribution disappeared.
Against a symphony of fiendish difficulty—so much so that, from its first premiere through the nineteenth century, cries of “How are we supposed to play this?” and “How are we supposed to sing this?” kept ringing out.
“No way, you can play the violin that well too...?”
“Exactly! B-but how can your breathing be this steady...?”
“Oh, the tempo, the tempo is locking in...!”
When the preparations for the performance reached their final stage.
Within the orchestra, there was only one nickname for concertmaster Histoire.
The Goddess of Music.
She must have found the expression very embarrassing, because every time someone called her that, she would usually turn her head away as if she hadn't heard a thing.
So.
“Do I have to join you at the table too?”
“Sob, sob, poor Kim Yul will be branded a heretic and die.”
“...Haa.”
On top of the concertmaster and piano soloist roles that weren't even entered into the prompt.
Histoire was even saddled with the horrific role of being bundled as a buy-one-get-one set meal for a banquet with the emperor and the high priest.
.
.
.
As they walked toward the banquet hall.
“I heard you just had a row earlier. What are you going to do?”
At Histoire’s question, Kim Yul tilted his head.
“Can speaking your mind and coming back really be called a row?”
It was a rather bold thing to say, though.
“Didn’t you want a modest, ordinary life? Still, I’m worried you responded too aggressively. Why did you do that?”
Even so, Histoire couldn’t wipe the worried look from her face.
As she said.
Kim Yul wasn’t particularly the type to want lofty status, immense wealth, or anything like that.
Though up to now he had been distributing the sheet music in something of a limited-edition form under the pretext of drawing attention to the novel.
- Are you insane, desuwa? You’re gonna give all of that away for free, kyaaaak!
- 'Are you insane, desuwa' is already informal speech, you elf.
- You're talking casually too, aren't you? At least put this down, desuwaaaak──
By the time the concert was over.
Kim Yul planned to release the sheet music for all the pieces he'd compiled so far, along with every piece that had been featured in the novel but never actually performed.
In the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
In the name of Ludwig van Beethoven.
In the name of Franz Liszt, and in the real names of countless other quoted musicians.
Of course, in the process.
- Just as you can't patent the sun, great music must also be remembered by everyone.
He even spouted a line so cringe-worthy it would make him kick the blanket a few times later, and it wasn't even a line he had come up with himself.
Even if he simply slapped a premium on those pieces and sold them off, he could have raked in several times the income he could make from the novel.
“Why did you do it, then?”
Kim Yul fell silent for a moment.
Many thoughts came to mind.
As he had felt while serializing Romance of the Three Kingdoms, if he lived a life riddled with plagiarism, he could have avoided all the hardship and simply lived comfortably, scraping money in with a rake.
If he hadn’t stubbornly kept pushing and instead gone, “Oh dear, I’ve made a terrible mistake. Loyalty, loyalty, wheeze-wheeze,” wagging his tail obediently, this storm would have passed quickly as well.
But.
Even in Greek and Roman mythology, the age of mankind was eventually reached.
Julius Caesar, too, met a tragic end after being unable to abandon his ambition for dictatorship.
The warlords of the Three Kingdoms, Yi Sun-sin, and Joan of Arc also willingly embraced death for the values they believed in—loyalty, righteousness, and the people’s will.
And what Beethoven sought to contain was
Freedom. Freiheit.
The freedom not to be economically bound to the nobility.
The freedom to play whatever music he wanted to his heart’s content.
The freedom to enjoy the equality human beings ought to possess.
The freedom to praise God, yet not bow down to those who borrowed God’s name.
All of those thoughts
“It pisses me off.”
Kim Yul condensed them into a single sentence.
Histoire made an incredulous expression, but Kim Yul was unfazed.
“Honestly, if the goddess looked at us, wouldn’t she praise this body of mine—who left behind praise with such an insanely awesome piece—more than some lowly high priest? If there’s anything wrong with my logic, let the goddess’s divine punishment strike my head right now.”
Histoire let out a sigh.
Then she stretched out her arm and gave Kim Yul’s head a sharp knuckle tap to punish him for blasphemy.