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It's a simple, unadorned wall.

At that very moment, he finally realizes. That is a wall he will never be able to overcome.

His mind is instantly filled with fear.

Gah!

Czerny coughs violently, sending blood gushing out of his mouth.

His cough is so intense that he tries to get up for a drink of water, only for him to stagger and knock down the music stand next to him.

Hey, are you alright?!

Herr Czerny!

I heard something just now! What happened?

A trifle, nothing more.

Now I see it. It's not that no one has ever attempted to do what I did. It's just that people who tried are all dead.

Ha, haha...

Hahahahahaha!

You're laughing?!

Mr. Czerny, You're bleeding out of your mouth... Let me wipe that for you.

How did you two feel just now?

When we drew out the Voice of Mundane, it felt very much like I was getting torn apart.

But after you joined in, it did feel like a lot of the pressure faded.

At the very least, this proves that my idea is workable.

But you're already...

I coughed up some blood, that's all. I know my own body better than anyone.

Let's continue.

Czerny sits back on his bench.

He closes his eyes and begins to ponder a question.

Who is Czerny?

He answers himself: Czerny is a coward.

He once hid underneath the wings of his dear friend and teacher, thinking that he could live his whole life through music.

Yet the death of his dear friend, the torments of Oripathy, and poverty all worked together to make him realize that he is but an ordinary man.

You will die.

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.