Chapter 77
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: Beethoven: Für Elise (1)
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One week.
The time Kim Yul had spent in the port city of Alveris.
Even though he was somewhat dragged around by Eisen at times, Kim Yul and Historie had faithfully enjoyed their original purpose.
A short but fulfilling rest.
"The water is so clear. In my database, the seas were drifting with toxic jellyfish, plastic straws piercing turtles' noses, sewage overflowing everywhere—such horrific places."
"Humans are sorry..."
Gazing at the jewel-like blue horizon of the sea, they shared thoughts on environmentalism.
"Hey! Hey! Got one!"
"That's the thrill of the catch, tin can."
Possessed by a big-game fishing maniac, he tugged back and forth with the fish on the line, contributing to ecosystem destruction in a way that made their eco-talk ring hollow.
"......"
"......"
At a place recommended as a must-visit eatery.
Seeing a fish-shaped monster dish far too massive to pass for mere fish, they both broke into cold sweats.
There were subtle similarities, but this place was utterly detached from his original homeland, and Kim Yul was forging memories here.
For Historie, every experience was unfamiliar and fresh, gradually allowing her to truly grasp what it meant to "live."
And today.
The final day of their stay.
"Haha! Come on in!"
"...Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness."
Among the enjoyable times, one that was relatively less so.
Kim Yul had been dragged to the banquet with Eisen, as always.
But the atmosphere was a bit different from before.
The navy officials who had once eyed him with suspicion now regarded him with recognition and awe.
It wasn't solely because of the war game victory.
Under Eisen's initiative, they had conducted actual military drills, and Kim Yul's proposed single-column formation had proven highly effective.
Thus, the gaze that once saw him as a mere armchair theorist spouting untested ideas had shifted to view him as an unparalleled genius.
"Ulysses, no thoughts of enlisting in the navy?"
"None. Absolutely not."
A promising slave candidate with a bright future ahead.
Naturally, the slave plantation owners swarmed around Kim Yul.
Of course, half of it was a self-inflicted disaster.
"Is there no way to counter the single-column formation?"
"War games assume ideal conditions, where orders are transmitted and executed instantly. Reality is different. You could exploit that delay, or launch parallel charges in second and third lines to shatter the formation and pick them off piecemeal."
Having dabbled in naval history, Nelson's Touch flowed from Kim Yul's mouth as if it were his own idea.
Why else be a history buff?
When talk turns to their domain, the mouth itches uncontrollably—sometimes sparking keyboard duels. Such is the fate and curse of history enthusiasts.
Unsurprisingly, it drew fresh aggro, new toasts, and more drinks.
But scarred from once falling for his advisor's tricks, Kim Yul gave no openings.
Instead.
"War can be likened to a mystical, paradoxical triangle..."
With alcohol clouding his brain.
He plagiarized Clausewitz's theory, sending the encircling soldiers somersaulting in shock.
"If a man like you served in the military, you could have become the black-haired Navy Marshal...!"
After several rematches, Winston sighed amid a dismal 0-6 record.
Precisely because of that, he could only deeply acknowledge and marvel at Kim Yul's military genius from the heart.
At the same moment.
Eisen's intensely poignant gaze stabbed into the back of Kim Yul's head.
No matter how he looked at it, this was a man he desperately wanted.
"Ugh, my head..."
"How much did you drink? Humans truly are foolish."
The next day.
Reeling from a nightmare of reenlistment on top of a hangover.
Kim Yul staggered back to the imperial capital, supported by Historie.
"My disciple has endured much."
"It's no hardship. Caring for Kim Yul is my duty."
"Oh my."
The troupe leader smiled warmly at Historie's deadpan delivery of an embarrassing line, a minor moment.
In any case, Kim Yul had successfully returned to daily life through the rift unscathed.
Parting with the troupe leader, he headed straight back to his beloved study.
Kim Yul immediately plugged the charger into his drained laptop.
And then.
"Phew... feeling a bit alive now. Let's take a look around."
"Aren't you tired?"
"Gotta do what needs doing..."
Kim Yul promptly led Historie out into the streets of the imperial capital once more.
His footsteps naturally took him to a music shop.
"Does art evolve toward converging forms? Pianos, violins—they all look so similar to Earth's."
"Well, it's not just one or two such things. In civilizations built by near-humans, maybe it's deterministic."
Setting aside lingering doubts about these eerie similarities for now, Kim Yul wandered the shop, admiring instruments and sheet music.
.
.
.
But at that moment.
A sour gaze was glaring at Kim Yul.
'Ragged bum...'
It was the shop owner.
Music was long considered the privilege of the wealthy, so the instruments were pricey.
But fresh from travel, unwashed, and with rift dust still caking their clothes.
In the owner's eyes, the pair—Kim Yul and Historie—looked disheveled, clothes grimy with accumulated dirt.
Even worse.
"Sheet music too. Can't read bean sprouts, though."
"What's bean sprouts?"
"Notes. No such idiom in your database?"
Overhearing the pair's clueless banter about music.
The owner pondered: issue a polite eviction, or grab the broom now?
But then.
"Hm, um, hm, um—something like this, for this piece."
"Sounds good?"
The woman picking up sheet music hummed a crystalline tune, momentarily clouding the owner's mind.
A pitch-perfect note, without a single flaw.
Too precise for mere prior knowledge—each score she grabbed, she captured its essence flawlessly and hummed it vividly.
The owner couldn't help but shiver.
"Um, that demo piano over there—mind if I play it briefly?"
"Ah... yes, go ahead."
Thus, he readily permitted the request.
Ragged attire notwithstanding.
This woman clearly understood music.
But could she handle the notoriously difficult piano?
"Play this score?"
"No. Hm... Für Elise, possible?"
"Easy."
As the owner swallowed his doubts and expectations, the redheaded woman's slender fingers swept across the keys.
At first, like a novice familiarizing herself, pressing keys at random and listening.
The owner tsked inwardly, as expected.
But only for a moment.
Soon, her fingers glided softly over the keys, weaving a melody.
"Ah, no...?"
The owner couldn't contain his awe.
A melody he'd never heard before.
Yet as a longtime music aficionado, he sensed it instinctively.
Within the light melody, profound anguish wove perfect, gentle harmonies.
After the performance ended.
"Sorry for just browsing."
"Thank you for the chance to play, owner."
Even as the pair bowed politely and departed.
The owner couldn't shake the thrill surging through him.
"H-Hey, wait!"
Snapping out of his daze, he bolted outside to catch them, at least ask their names—but they had vanished into the crowd.
.
.
.
On the way back to the study.
Kim Yul was convinced.
There were certainly pieces brimming with originality.
But Beethoven's music.
Could surely deliver emotion and resonance to this world.
Two weeks later.
Before the peach world tree, still sporadically adorned with funeral flowers.
A group arrived carrying stage equipment and a piano, drawing curious onlookers from passersby.
Once a piano with ornate, luxurious decorations was set up.
"Huh?"
"It's the troupe leader!"
"The troupe leader plays piano too?"
A face unmistakable to art lovers.
The troupe leader appeared alongside an unfamiliar redheaded woman.
The two women approached the piano together and placed their hands on it.
Right then.
From their touch.
An illusion of a man began to emerge.
Stern yet flickering with madness.
Stoic yet oddly cheerful.
A figure blending myriad impressions fully materialized on the piano stool.
The two women quietly withdrew, leaving the stage.
The lone illusory man placed his fingers on the keys.
The very next moment.
Not just the intrigued onlookers.
All passersby halted in unison.
And pricked up their ears.
Surrendering to the melody.
A piano melody like the first syllable of an unspoken love confession—wistful, heartrending—began enveloping the air.
Soon, his left hand softly embraced with arpeggios, melancholy drifting over a lonely river, stirring the heart neither too deeply nor shallowly.
The mood shifted subtly.
Like curtains parting, sunlight flooding a dark, empty room.
A light, sprightly rhythm ensued, skipping merrily over the keys like footsteps dancing through a flower field.
But the warmth was fleeting.
An urgent right hand raced passionately, casting shadows of fervor, sublimating pent-up emotions in one burst.
Despair for the unattainable.
Triplets whirled like a desperate plea, slicing the air.
And again.
The storm subsided as if by magic.
The initial somber theme returned, final gentle chords adorning the ether.
The moment the piece ended.
From the upper branches of the peach world tree, a massive tapestry unfurled with a rustle, framing the piano like a backdrop.
Emblazoned upon it: the man's face, identical to the illusion.
And the catchphrase: 'Friends, applaud! The comedy ends here.'
Beneath that.
Originally, Kim Yul had insisted on the bizarre title 'Ear-Shattering Music Genius.'
But Chloe, offering her ears to be fiddled with freely, vetoed it with heroic sacrifice.
The protagonist's name in the novel, and the novel's title itself.
Beethoven.
Just those three letters stood proudly.
Before words could be born into the world.
His music had already gently enveloped the imperial capital.