On Duty
“Mm……”
It was 7:40 p.m. After taking a bath in her assigned dormitory room, Laura—now dressed in light loungewear—sat at her desk, diligently working on the assignment Ferzen had given her.
Having been a woman in both her past and present lives, listing out things that women experienced at least once in their lives wasn't difficult at all.
The problem was men…
'No, not just men.'
When they weren't nobles—in other words, as commoner women—there would be certain things they all went through at least once. The same went for men.
That's why Laura planned to stop by the mercenary guild in the capital later and post a request there. Most of those conscripted into wars or territorial battles were commoners, after all.
'And if I break down the professions further…'
She had a feeling it wouldn't be hard to get full marks on this assignment.
Laura's current goal was to challenge Ferzen again and reclaim her past life's body.
“Hoo……”
Rubbing her stiff shoulders and stretching, Laura glanced at the calendar that caught her eye and frowned.
Her birthday—the day she would turn nineteen in full—was fast approaching.
'I no longer carry the blood of Genova.'
Reminding herself of that, she tried to refocus…
Knock knock.
A knock echoed from the door.
She didn't have anyone she was particularly close to. Who could be visiting at this hour?
Puzzled, Laura stood and opened the door.
“Ah, h-hello!”
“Ah, y-yes……”
They were unfamiliar, but not strangers. They were young ladies from the same liberal arts class—Understanding Cultural Arts, the pianoforte section.
“Wh-what…… b-brings you here?”
“W-would you teach us…… p-piano?”
“P-pardon?”
“J-just as it s-sounds……”
Rosenberg, the holy land of art and culture. A place where artists in painting, music, sculpture, and all other fields nurtured their dreams, drawing in those who admired them.
Naturally, Laura—as a lady of Rosenberg—had particularly high achievements in music compared to others.
“……”
So she understood their request.
In modern times, maybe not, but at this point in history, the piano was a relatively new instrument. Yet despite its short history, it had explosive popularity. That meant its price was exorbitantly high compared to other instruments—which also meant few people could teach it.
Commoners couldn't save up enough for one of decent quality. Even nobles weren't much different; not all had endless money.
Hiring a teacher who could play and teach piano was no small luxury.
That's why Understanding Cultural Arts—Pianoforte boasted overwhelming competition rates among liberal arts courses. Not only were pianos provided for the 30 students to play freely during lessons, but those same 30 could use the dormitory music room pianos for practice anytime……
It was a miracle the departmental administrative assistant hadn't killed himself that day.
“A-alright……”
“Really?!”
“Y-yes.”
Teaching piano—at least just properly setting the basics—wouldn't require much talking, so Laura accepted without refusing.
“W-wait…… a m-moment. I-I'll grab s-something to w-wear……”
“Yes! We'll wait!”
“Hurry back!”
Leaving their girlish squeals of joy behind, Laura threw on a light coat and headed with them to the music room in A Dormitory.
“F-first…… t-try p-playing…… o-on your own?”
Speaking as slowly as possible to avoid stuttering, her words came out soft and drawn out.
The three young ladies nodded at Laura's words and touched the piano keys.
“N-no. Th-the thumb…… m-must……”
A hallmark of beginners with no knowledge was using only four fingers, excluding the thumb. Because using the thumb felt too strange.
But if that habit set in, it was like imposing a self-penalty. Women, with less stamina than men, would tire even faster just finishing one piece.
So Laura patiently corrected them step by step as time passed, until it neared 10 p.m.…
“That's enough playing for now.”
Ferzen appeared to send the students back to their rooms.
“Ah……”
Laura and the three young ladies hesitated, surprised it was already so late, and stood from their seats.
“You have lectures starting at 9 tomorrow…… I could allow until midnight if you want more. But anything beyond that risks you being late, and I'd catch hell for it, so no.”
“Ah! Th-then……!”
The three young ladies beamed and clung to Ferzen, securing permission to use the music room until midnight—even for Laura's share.
“D-do you like p-piano too, P-Professor Ferzen?”
The second son of Brutein, a handsome man with an unapproachable aura. Seeing him show them kindness, the three grew even friendlier and asked Ferzen a question.
“No. I don't like the piano. Personally, it's among the worst instruments.”
“Ah……”
His blunt response made the three ladies awkwardly withdraw.
The reason Ferzen disliked the piano? It was simple.
Pianos in Lee Seojin's modern world had 88 keys, but here they had 73. To Ferzen, that made it the worst instrument.
But as a noble—and Brutein's heir—he couldn't fall behind trends, so he'd practiced by forcibly skipping one key.
“B-because its h-history is sh-short…… is th-that why?”
“Unrelated.”
“H-have you…… n-never even p-played it……”
“Laura. Do you think I'd never have played?”
“……”
As Isabel, while searching for ways to cure the curse—the Full Moon's Curse—she'd chosen piano and cigarettes as occasional escapes from reality.
And in this life, as Rosenberg's daughter from the cradle of culture and art, she had considerable musical talent. Having played piano often since childhood, it held deep attachment for her.
So Laura—though it might be presumptuous—boldly provoked Ferzen.
“Th-then…… p-play j-just one s-song for us.”
“……”
“If y-you can't…… w-well, no big d-deal……”
“L-Laura……!”
The three ladies paled beside her, but Ferzen himself smiled faintly.
“Fine. I'll play one song. But when it's done, Laura, you'll grant me one request.”
“O-of course.”
A twinge of regret stirred inside, but Laura ignored it, sitting straight and watching Ferzen's back.
“Now that I think of it…… this should be fine to show.”
Caressing the ring on his left hand, Ferzen opened his subspatial pocket, placed Isabel's coffin down, and soon had her corpse servant seated beside him.
“Watch and learn what true autonomous control looks like.”
For just one song, he could suppress his OCD flare-up over the 73 keys.
Besides, not only Ferzen but his blended self—Lee Seojin—had attended piano academy through middle school, so there was no aversion to playing.
And the piece current Ferzen would play was one vividly etched in Lee Seojin's memory: White Out.
After a deep breath, Ferzen began.
“……”
The start was a calm harmony of notes, almost mundane to the listener.
“……!”
But the turning point came quickly.
A lingering soft note left its echo, and before it faded, the volume surged steeply.
The rapid passage—considerable in speed—evoked in Laura's mind a sudden downpour or blizzard, as she strained to listen.
The notes' tense atmosphere conjured images of someone fleeing frantically from that rain or snow.
But soon, the tones slowed and calmed again.
Unlike the initial blandness, now with clear frustration and sorrow.
This was like a sudden blizzard—more snow than rain—endlessly falling, symbolizing desperate wandering in search of shelter.
Then the gloomy tones rose gradually, and the previous steep speed returned.
That furious—no, awe-inspiring—passage assaulted without mercy, denying the listener even a breath.
'……'
Listening obediently to Ferzen's playing, Laura soon realized how deeply emotional it was.
Music was inherently emotional, but this felt like pouring out his raw feelings…… just neatly packaged as music.
A desperate excretion of his inner turmoil.
'……'
Laura—no, past-life Isabel—had played the exact same way.
For her then, piano was an escape from reality, an emotional trash bin and comfort.
This piece was probably his original composition. She'd never heard it anywhere in Rosenberg—music solely his.
As the song neared its end, the notes descended.
Like someone buried in raging snow, failing to find shelter, slowly dying…… vision whitening.
White Out, literally.
Soon, his performance ended, with Isabel's corpse autonomously pressing keys alongside. The three ladies gasped in admiration.
With their shallow piano knowledge, they marveled simply at Ferzen's clean, overwhelming speed.
But Laura was different.
She empathized more deeply with the piece's inherent…… Ferzen's inner world.
Imagining that desperation, sorrow, agony…… what it must have been.
“Laura de Charles Rosenberg.”
Ferzen called her.
Snapping from her reverie, Laura flinched.
He loomed so tall that, seated, she had to crane her neck back as he stood beside her, looking down.
“You know you owe me one request.”
“Y-yes……”
What would he ask?
His crimson eyes gazing down were so eerie, Laura clenched her fists tight.
……The puppy honey is honey-sweet even when barking puppy-like, the honey puppy is puppy-like even when honey-sweet.
“P-pardon?”
Leaning down, he whispered the long sentence to her.
“Repeat it.”
“……”
“If you can't remember, I'll say it again.”
Less urging, more command. Glancing at the three ladies, Laura grabbed Ferzen's lapel—specifically his necktie—brought her mouth near his nape, and murmured softly.
“Th-the p-pup-py h-honey…… i-is……”
But as she continued, her volume dwindled.
Knowing her stutter, making her say this was a cruel prank, a simple punishment.
“Come for inspection every week. If you say it without a single stutter, we're done.”
“……!”
Childish for her mental age, Laura puffed her cheeks and glared fiercely at Ferzen.
But he had already returned Isabel's corpse to her coffin, pocketed it, and left the music room.
“……”
Unlike the three chattering excitedly over Ferzen's performance, Laura sighed inwardly and spoke.
“Th-the p-pup-py…… puppy……”
It was hopeless. Stuttering from the first syllable—how could she flawlessly recite that endless sentence?
“P-pup-py……”
Like a dog. She felt like a puppy.
“D-damn him……”
Her face flushing beet red, Laura spat a cute curse at Ferzen, who had vanished completely.
'No matter how I look at it……'
The difficulty was too harsh for her.
So Laura thought it might be better to transcribe his recent performance into sheet music and send it to Rosenberg.
If it earned even a modicum of fame there—or luckier, a blessing from the God of Art……
“P-pup-py h-honey…… h-honey……”
Wouldn't it cancel this punishment bordering on torment?
Laura desperately hoped so.