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I've lived this long because Gertrude still thinks I have value, and so she paid for my medication and kept me alive for a few years longer than most other Infected.

But if I can't finish this piece today, I might as well be dead.

If you don't want me to die a meaningless death, pick up your flute.

He answers: Czerny is a man who sees music as everything.

Before he was famous, the people of the Afterglow showed nothing but grief and sorrow whenever he went outside. They had no appreciation for the beauty of music because they didn't know whether they would live to see the next day.

To make ends meet, he had no choice but to accept Gertrude's suggestion and become a spectacle for the nobles in the music halls left behind by the Witch King, like some kind of rare animal.

Life was way too complicated, and he wanted to go back inside his house.

At all those times, it was always music that kept him from running.

He has more than music, but it is with music that he expresses everything about him.

Kreide, your performance is too weak.

But...

Don't worry about me. You don't have that right!

This is about your survival, not mine. Do not ever think it is a virtue to sacrifice yourself!

Your sacrifice is also a burden!

Scream, vent, and fight for the reward that should've been yours!

I... understand.

Finally, he answers: Czerny is a man who resists fate.

Is music how he resists his fate, then?

No! Music is his struggle, his howl, and his song.

He is struggling for his friend who passed away before fulfilling her musical ideals.

He is howling for those who cannot speak.

He is singing for those who was born into suffering yet still have joy within their hearts.

In that case, is he performing in someone else's stead?

No! He knows how his friend was unwilling to die, he walked the streets where those who cannot speak gather, and he brought music to those who are trying to seek joy despite their sufferings.

Once again, he stands in front of that high wall—the Witch King. He knows he can never overcome this wall.

But, this time, he instead reminisces about the joy of discussing music with his dear friend, he remembers the love and respect he receives from the Afterglow's residents, and he remembers the morning sun he sees at the beginning of each day.

And that is why he says—

Right now, I am my own opponent.

*cough*, ourgh.

Mr. Czerny, you're coughing up blood again!

(He's not listening to me at all...)

Let's go get some rest, Ebenholz.

But––

We don't need to be here anymore.

What we need to do is rest up and wait for Herr Czerny to finish his new piece.

Hibiscus, take care of him.

At the very least, I won't let him collapse before me. Now go.

Czerny's enemy is not the Witch King.

Even though the Witch King's offenses were heinously profuse, even though he disdains that monarch, he is still forced to concede that music itself stands unrelated to good or evil.

His opponent is himself, at this very moment.

He no longer tries to scale the wall so despairingly high.

He begins to perform.

Beneath his feet appears a platform. It brings him up in unbroken ascent, up through the clouds.

Though still no end to the wall can be seen, he no longer cares.

Even though he can feel the turbulent power dash about his body, and he cannot hold back further coughs of blood.

Hibiscus, to one side, is even given the illusion—

She can almost see Czerny's life flying by in accelerando, but at the same time, the score he writes rages:

Take it, take it all! Take everything of him!

Today marks the day of Czerny's death!

But Czerny's music will never die!

And day breaks.

*cough* *cough*, *cough*, *cough*...

It's... com... plete...

That's such a relief! You're—

The musician strains to lift himself, but his upper body crashes against the piano, and he leaves a discordant coda in the shining dawn.

Break a leg! I'll be cheering for you!

But... Even though I've been practicing for this day, I'm still not that confident...

Then there's that prophecy too, saying something about an ensemble... What if it's me...?

C'mon, you've got this! What's there to be scared of? All those who were afflicted last night have already been treated, so I'm sure we'll be fine today!

This is actually the first time I've had to sit with so many Infected. Hopefully this concert is worth my while.

Is Herr Czerny here yet?

According to the organizer, he was also affected by last night's Originium slug incident, but he did not cancel his scheduled appearance today.

Oh? That's good.

Damen und Herren, please take your seats. Herr Czerny will be here shortly.

You speak the truth, yes? You'd better not wait until after we're inside the hall to close the doors and announce that he can't make it––

I assure you that would never happen. Herr Czerny is only experiencing a mild seasonal malaise, and will arrive at Afterglow Hall soon.

That sly bastard... I knew the files couldn't have just up and disappeared.

I can deal with him later. The files aren't that big of a deal anyway, not when compared to the actual research on the Voice of Mundane.

––Is he going to the concert hall?

Forget it... He can knock himself out.

By the looks of things, espionage is difficult work.

Hmph. You should probably be worrying about yourself rather than about me, Gräfin Strollo.

Harboring the Witch King's remains in your own demesne and propping up research on the Voice of Mundane are serious crimes.

By the way, my good spy, how did my father and brother die, according to your records?

Let's stay on topic.

They are closely related to this topic.

Fifteen years ago, your father provided cover for research on the Voice of Mundane. After we found out, he was about to spill the beans on the men behind him, but was silenced.

Had you known, it would be reasonable to assume you'd act on the knowledge.

You think I'm trying to cover this up?

My views towards my father have also changed over time.

As a child, I felt like my father was the most terrifying person in the world. His will was absolute, and nobody could change his mind.

I liked running and jumping about, so my father would lock me up in my room. I liked to talk during mealtime, so my father would take away my dinner and make me talk to the wall for an hour.

Later, as I got older, my awe towards my father continued to grow unabated. I personally saw the way the lesser nobles kissed his feet, and the disdain with which he regarded them.

Even the Witch King's envoys had no choice but to speak softly when they approached the Strollo Spire, a far cry from their overbearing airs while on the ground.

That was the Lord of House Strollo, our Lehnsherr. A Kurfürst, and once the most revered of all houses.

But everything changed when the Witch King fell.

Let me be up front: you're currently in very bad shape.

As a doctor, I should be forbidding you from playing the concert.

But it doesn't look like you're trying to stop me.

I don't want the music that you've burnt your life away for to die in the dust.

Seems like you're finally learning to be flexible.

No, but I've come to realize that at times, certain goals must be prioritized over others.

I often found it ridiculous that my father was stupid enough to embrace the Witch King's rule.

He was so staggeringly stupid that he didn't even bother concealing his opinions.

Under his leadership, the Strollo family quickly lost the support of the Kurfürsten.

Our house also lost control over two nomadic cities and was forced to retreat to Vyseheim, near the homeland of the Witch King, Urtica.

Did Graf Strollo, who lorded over Vyseheim, foolishly believe that he didn't belong there?

So your father, discontent with the status quo, began to commune with the remnants of the Witch King.

Hah, that's what I thought at the time, but you aren't as naive as I was back then, my dear spy.

Your agents should know far better than I. Old Strollo was messing around with the Witch King's remains since the very beginning, wasn't he?