The Owner of the Letter (2)
Could it be…?
“Wait a moment!”
To Beethoven,
It is a pity that you learned of the half-formed voice I cast away.
Yet I must also thank you, for you understood my loneliness, my sorrow, my despair — and felt them alongside me.
The art I desire from you is
Yang Myeonghyun's hand froze mid-stroke, Für Elise half-written into the letter, at my shout.
Thank goodness. It was ink — once something was written, there was no erasing it.
“Huh?”
“Hold on. Don't write yet. I don't think that's it.”
As I let out a breath of relief, Yang Myeonghyun set the pen in his hand down on the desk.
“You're saying Beethoven is wrong?”
“No. I think Beethoven is right. I can't think of another artist who could stand in his place.”
I told Yang Myeonghyun what I had just been turning over in my mind.
“They said there's no single right answer, but that the path changes. So wouldn't there be a wiser choice?”
“What do you mean?”
“It was my mistake. Choosing Für Elise just because the frame held a painting of a woman was far too simplistic a line of thinking.”
I felt like I could read Yang Myeonghyun's thoughts.
He was probably thinking: You were the one who argued so hard for it, and now you're telling me what to do?
“Listen, Myeonghyun-ssi. The reason Van Gogh should choose Für Elise is too weak. Because he craves affection?”
It was true that this Bedroom in Arles was a space made for a friend — a place that revealed Van Gogh's longing for love.
But still.
“In a situation this unstable, rather than yearning for love, 'I' would have to prioritize my own stability above all else.”
I turned the frame around and showed Yang Myeonghyun its back.
In the center of the back of the frame, a small line of handwriting was scrawled.
— On the night the light streamed in, my soul was at peace.
What Van Gogh needed most was, quite simply, his own art.
“The window wasn't transparent, and I failed to notice that.”
“Huh?”
Clunk—
I stretched my body out and flung open the window that had been sealed shut.
The window, which like the Bedroom in Arles had shimmered in greens and yellows, swung open to reveal a world painted in entirely different colors.
A deep blue-black sky, a yellow moon, and a night sky spilling over with stars.
“Look at this. It's still night out there.”
“…The stars and the moon are glowing.”
It was the same path we had walked on our way up to the 10th floor.
Outside the window, the world of Van Gogh's The Starry Night still stretched on.
“The Moonlight Sonata.”
Gazing up at the enormous moon, I murmured the name of yet another of Beethoven's works.
“The Moonlight Sonata? Isn't that another piece Beethoven composed? It was in your Perk earlier, Jisan-hyung.”
“That's right. Piano Sonata No. 14 — better known as the Moonlight Sonata.”
“…So the moonlight and that inscription changed your mind?”
“Yes. And there are stars painted in this picture, too.”
I turned the frame forward again and held the painting out to him.
“Unlike the actual Bedroom in Arles, this painting has stars in it.”
I had found plenty of evidence that the recipient of this letter was Beethoven.
But I still couldn't be sure whether, among his countless works, it absolutely had to be Für Elise.
“But Jisan-hyung, didn't you think of Für Elise in the first place because of that painting — the one that differs from Van Gogh's actual work?”
The two of us turned our gaze together toward the painting hanging on the wall.
Right. When you said "Beethoven's woman," most people would think of Elise first.
I drew a deep breath and steeled myself for a long explanation.
“But our reply determines the path we take, and I've come to think that, if we have a choice, it's better to pick a piece more closely tied to Van Gogh.”
“A piece more closely tied to Van Gogh?”
“Yes. Docent — I want information on the Moonlight Sonata.”
Swish—
[Moonlight Sonata]
◈ Composition Information
┗ Formal title: Piano Sonata No. 14, composed 1801.
The name derives from the German poet and music critic who, after Beethoven's death, described the piece as "a little boat drifting on a lake bathed in moonlight."
…….
…….
Dedicated to his pupil and lover, Giulietta Guicciardi.
“Now that I've dug the memory back up, it turns out Beethoven dedicated the Moonlight Sonata to a woman he loved as well.”
“If your memory is correct, then that woman is the one in this painting.”
“Yes, exactly. And then the stars in the frame, the inscription, the night sky outside the window, and the woman in the painting — everything falls into place.”
“…….”
Yang Myeonghyun, who had been following my reasoning carefully, soon opened his mouth with a resolute expression.
“It isn't safe.”
“Huh?”
“Why must you make such a bold choice, Jisan-hyung?”
“…Because I thought the Moonlight Sonata fit the clues scattered around this room better.”
“But Für Elise is already ringing through the room, isn't it? I'd think it wiser to follow the direction the Tower has given us.”
What Yang Myeonghyun says is always sound. But.
Was the notion truly correct that a piece the Tower had spoon-fed us was the safe one?
All this time, the museum had cleverly baited its visitors.
It was entirely possible that putting weight on this background music was, in fact, one of their tricks.
“Myeonghyun-ssi. I chose safety, too.”
“…I don't understand.”
“They said there's no right answer, but I'm worried that if our choice isn't a careful one, the 11th floor ahead of us will only become more treacherous.”
Keeeek—
“!!”
At that moment the room shrank again, and the chair I had been standing on slammed fully against the bed and snapped.
I scrambled up quickly and leapt across to the bed where Yang Myeonghyun stood.
CRACK!!
The wooden chair, wedged between wall and bed, shattered with a tremendous clamor.
I shielded my face with both arms to keep the flying splinters from hitting me.
Fortunately, none of the wood fragments reached my body.
At this rate, one more? No. Two more contractions and…
We'd be crushed like fruit under a hydraulic press.
The wall pressing in so close I could hardly breathe made my respiration grow ragged.
“I wondered if we might escape through the window, but it was a wasted effort.”
Yang Myeonghyun grumbled, kicking at the open window.
Even with the window open, no foot could be extended beyond it.
Some invisible barrier had to be in place.
The only way out was to write the letter and send it under the door.
If I kept locking horns with Yang Myeonghyun, we might genuinely fail the quest.
Is it really worth persuading Yang Myeonghyun this far?
Even if it was pretense rather than true nature, I liked his altruistic disposition and his knowledge of art.
I couldn't trust Yang Myeonghyun completely, but at least within this narrow room, reasoning alongside him felt no burden at all.
But if he became an obstacle to our climb… then perhaps now was the time to use the Soul Rental perk.
Soul Rental, activa—
“I believe the purpose of this quest is for the visitor to place themselves in Van Gogh's shoes and attempt to fathom his psychology.”
“…….”
At Yang Myeonghyun's words, I withdrew the will to activate Soul Rental.
He's right. Would this Tower even be satisfied if I summoned Van Gogh himself?
“Then let me present more evidence.”
“You mean evidence beyond the light in the painting, the inscription, and the woman?”
“Yes. The date written on this quest letter.”
I pointed a finger at the date inscribed at the bottom of the letter.
“The Moonlight Sonata was released in 1801. It matches the date on the letter exactly.”
“…….”
Für Elise was released in 1810.
It was the single most decisive clue in favor of choosing the Moonlight Sonata.
“And Van Gogh yearned for human love, yes, but what he lacked most of all was…”
Van Gogh had friends, lovers, and his brother Theo.
Certainly, he struggled and ultimately failed in his relationships — but through the course of them, he had been loved.
Something even beyond that, something Van Gogh could never have…
“He wanted his work to be acknowledged. To be seen. To be met with empathy.”
Because until the day he died, he never stood in the light.
He must have been more desperate than anyone for someone to truly look at his paintings.
“Recognition — as a human being.”
Yang Myeonghyun, seemingly struck in particular by the word "recognition," murmured it in a low voice.
That's right. I wanted… recognition, too.
Ouch. I'd almost slipped headlong into the abyss of the past for a moment there.
“And the reason Beethoven forgave Van Gogh in this letter is that the keyword 'ear' let the two of them empathize with each other — even if only as fiction.”
“So you're saying that rather than Für Elise, which foregrounds love, the Moonlight Sonata is what will heal Van Gogh.”
“Yes. Like 'ear,' the Moonlight Sonata is a piece where one can empathize and be recognized through the keyword 'light.' That's how I see it.”
“Forgive my rudeness, but it might be a dream interpretation more than a dream.”
“I heard that same line from another visitor recently.”
“Haha.”
Even with the shrunken room leaving no room for comfort, Yang Myeonghyun let out an easy, hearty laugh.
Truly an unhurried man. In any case, his expression suggested he had finally accepted my reasoning.
“You talked with Van Gogh too, Myeonghyun-ssi.”
“…….”
“Since the choice has no answer, this may not be the wiser option. …Still, I want to make Van Gogh happy as much as I can.”
“You hope for an ideal path inside a museum that offers nothing but despair.”
Unable to argue back, I merely shrugged.
This was a tower where climbers ascended in competition with one another, so perhaps it was an attitude I ought to abandon.
Still, I've decided to at least try things my way for now.
Yang Myeonghyun, once persuaded, laid the paper down on the desk.
As the desk, cracked and split by the pressure, threatened to come apart, he wrote swiftly, racing against its collapse.
To Beethoven,
It is a pity that you learned of the half-formed voice I cast away.
Yet I must also thank you, for you understood my loneliness, my sorrow, my despair — and felt them alongside me.
The art I desire from you is the Moonlight Sonata.
The moonlight that lives in your music will make the night in my painting shine all the more beautifully.
— Vincent van Gogh
The moment the letter was finished, the piano piece echoing through the room changed from Für Elise to the Moonlight Sonata.
The melody truly did feel as if it gleamed like moonlight. Serene, yet radiant.
“So it really was a choice with no right answer. I was stubbornly narrow-minded.”
“This is no time for self-reproach. It's fine, so hurry. Throw it under the door, Myeonghyun-ssi!”
After finishing the letter, Yang Myeonghyun blew on it to dry the ink as much as possible, then folded the paper.
Then, among the envelopes he had torn open earlier, he slipped the letter into the one bearing no sender's name.
Quick on his feet, that one.
The only floor space left now was beside the bed.
An area just barely large enough for a single person to plant their feet.
Yang Myeonghyun crouched down at the foot of the bed, bent himself low, and stretched his arm out as far as it would go.
And he slid the letter through the gap beneath the door.
The pose was rather ridiculous, but thanks to it, the letter sailed safely through the doorway.
“…….”
“…….”
We held our breath and waited to see what would happen.
The surroundings were quiet — had the quest succeeded and the shrinking stopped?
Thud— Thud— Thud—
Then came the sound of footsteps climbing the wooden stairs, from the 1st floor all the way up to us.
Perhaps because the wooden stairway was old, the lively footfalls rang out loudly.
And the footsteps finally came to a stop before the door.
“Hello~ we've received your letter. We'll be sending it back 80 years right away!”
A woman's voice, presumably the mail carrier.
Then came a rustling sound outside the door, and the footsteps gradually faded away.
Had the mail carrier picked up the letter and descended the stairs?
We did it…
The mail carrier actually entering the house defied all logic, but this was the Museum of Wishes, after all.
Only then did Yang Myeonghyun and I wipe away the sweat that had beaded across our foreheads.
I, whose frame was only a sliver smaller than Yang Myeonghyun's, lowered myself to the floor to try the door.
I pushed it open with all my strength, but it didn't budge an inch.
“Uh…? The door won't open.”
“This way opened.”
At his words, I turned my head to the side.
…Yang Myeonghyun's hand was reaching out through the window — the very window that had been sealed by a barrier until moments ago.
I climbed back up onto the bed and stared at the scenery beyond the window.
A height so vertiginous it was hard to believe this was the 2nd floor.
Van Gogh's swirling brushwork made it nearly impossible to tell where the ground even was.
Down there?
“We'll have to jump from here.”
While I was still working my jaw, Yang Myeonghyun planted a foot on the window frame.
“…Right. I suppose that's the only way.”
I had leapt into the Gates of Hell itself — a night sky couldn't be much worse.
“I'll jump first. Follow me.”
“Whoa?! Ah, wait a—”
Without so much as a warning signal, Yang Myeonghyun threw himself straight out the window.
I was someone who had jumped into a place that looked like the fires of hell, but that was far too little deliberation.
Damn it. No help for it.
“Uwaaagh!!”