Chapter 1. The Coma Patient Was a Musical Genius
The piano—known as the king of instruments.
Its full name: pianoforte (pf).
“Piano” means soft.
You play it by relaxing your fingers as you press the keys.
Gently, delicately.
Next, “forte.”
You press with force.
Strongly, powerfully.
Depending on how hard the keys are pressed, this instrument expresses both of those extremes. That’s how it got its name.
Piano.
But the life I’m beginning anew… is forte.
“Patient vital signs are changing! Brainwave activity is increasing!”
“Sir, can you hear me?!”
“He’s finally opened his eyes!”
“Call the team! Hurry!”
Intensely.
The piano, called the king of instruments.
And I was once called the king of the piano in the 19th century.
Now I’ve opened my eyes.
No—more accurately, my eyes opened on their own.
The first thing I saw was a stark white ceiling.
Then came the flurry of urgent voices.
But they only buzzed around my ears.
I couldn’t focus at all.
I forced myself to tilt my head.
White hospital clothes.
There was a hospital name embroidered on my chest, but I had no idea where this place was.
Everything felt unfamiliar.
Of course it did.
I had just closed my eyes in the 19th century…
And opened them here.
But scattered within the unfamiliarity were faint fragments of familiarity—pieces of memory.
“Hyesung! Hyesung!”
As my senses slowly returned, the voices became clearer.
And those memory fragments started to piece together.
…Ah. I remember.
This body, wearing this hospital gown—
I was born in a country called Korea.
And at the age of 13, I fell into a coma.
That coma lasted… how long?
‘How long was I out? I still feel so weak.’
Thankfully, the doctor answered that for me.
“You’ve just woken up after three years. Are you feeling conscious?”
Three years.
That would make me 16 now.
My name is Hyesung—Yoo Hyesung.
“Yoo Hyesung? If you can’t speak, blink your eyes once.”
Ah, Yoo Hyesung.
Still, my memory wasn’t quite intact.
For now, I blinked.
‘This is confusing.’
Two different memories coexisted in my head.
My 19th-century self. My modern-day self.
But what I was seeing right now was unmistakably modern. There was no doubt.
Then… what was that life in the 19th century?
A dream I had while in a coma?
No. It was too vivid to dismiss as just a dream.
‘Then maybe…’
Maybe I remembered my past life during the coma.
And soon, I had a chance to confirm my theory.
“Let’s begin by measuring the GCS score and checking the autonomic nervous system.”
They placed an evaluation sheet on the overbed table, designed for newly conscious patients.
If it really was just a dream, I wouldn’t be able to write in the languages I used in the 19th century—
German, Hungarian, French, etc.
I gripped the pen tightly.
Started with my name:
— Yoo Hye Sung
Korean, check.
Next…
I began writing in several European languages at the bottom of the sheet.
My hand moved as if the languages were second nature.
“…Is that doodling?”
“Looks like he can’t focus.”
“Let’s just keep observing for now.”
The problem was my fingers weren’t fully strong yet—so it just looked like scribbles to them.
‘Then it must really be a past life.’
That’s good. I decided to just focus on the evaluation.
Honestly, I didn’t even have the energy to waste on doubting anymore.
As I turned to the next page—
‘Oh.’
Familiar faces entered the room.
I didn’t need to dig through memory to recognize them.
From the left: my uncle, my father, my mother.
“…Hyesung! My little brother!”
My uncle rushed over and hugged me, sobbing uncontrollably.
I wasn’t sure why he called me “little brother.”
‘Ah, right. He always saw me like one.’
If I remember correctly, he was in his mid-20s.
We weren’t that far apart in age.
Now, three years later, he’d be in his late 20s.
My parents stood behind him, teary-eyed.
Soon enough, they too were crying.
“Hyesung…”
“F-Finally…”
I gave a faint smile and managed my first words.
“I’m… back.”
I looked out the hospital window.
When I first opened my eyes here, the trees were colored with autumn leaves.
But today—
On the day of my discharge—only bare branches remained.
My rehabilitation had taken so long that the seasons had changed. It was winter now.
“Congratulations on being discharged, son!”
“Brr, it’s cold. Let’s get in the car.”
“You’ve been through a lot, Hyesung.”
As soon as I stepped outside, my family greeted me with smiles and cheers.
Still, I stood quietly, taking in the view.
This was a modern winter. The streets of the 21st century.
Seeing it like this, it finally felt real.
I really had awakened as Yoo Hyesung.
Truth be told, while I was in the hospital, I was still confused.
My past life had been so vivid—
And that film reel, that story, was far longer than my modern one.
But now, I understood.
“Hey, finally stepping outside making you emotional?”
“Ha, he can’t even take a step forward.”
A red scarf had been wrapped around my neck.
I chuckled softly.
A warm breath escaped into the cold air.
“…Let’s go.”
Now I truly understood.
We drove to a restaurant.
The place was quite luxurious, clearly a splurge for my discharge.
‘Isn’t this a bit much for us?’
We weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor either.
Solidly middle class.
My mom ran a piano academy.
My dad used to run a small company—
“You’ve worked so hard these past few years, taking care of Hyesung.”
Yeah. Three years ago.
Dad had temporarily shut down his business to be my caregiver.
As I was overwhelmed by these thoughts, my uncle spoke up:
“Hey, I helped too, you know. I used to talk to you a lot—just in case you were listening.”
Oh, right.
‘What does my uncle even do now?’
During my recovery, he never once mentioned anything about work.
Curious, I asked:
“Uncle.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you still… job hunting?”
“…”
He froze mid-bite.
My dad burst into loud laughter.
Guess I was right. Even after three years.
“I could’ve gotten a job anytime, but I was waiting for a better opportunity. But next year, I’ll definitely get one.”
Maybe I should’ve woken up a year later.
Then again, I might’ve never woken up at all.
‘Anyway…’
I opened and closed my hands repeatedly.
At first, my fingers had been stiff and rusty.
But now they moved smoothly.
Thanks to the rehab I worked so hard on.
My ten fingers tapped lightly on the table.
At first, it was just dull tapping—
But then it turned into notes that resonated in my ears.
The notes became scales.
And the scales stirred my chest.
‘Music.’
Yes—what I had longed to do most.
What I had missed desperately throughout my recovery.
And now, I could finally do it again.
But where…
“Oh right, sis! I saw your music academy’s YouTube channel hit 1,000 subscribers.”
“Still doesn’t mean much unless it brings in new students.”
“Still, 1,000 is impressive… Hyesung, why are you smiling like that?”
Right here.
The next day, I approached my uncle.
By the way, he lived with us now—
Said he was definitely going to find a job in Seoul, not his rural hometown.
“Can you help me shoot a YouTube video today?”
“Huh? What video? I’m working on a résumé here.”
“I just saw you watching YouTube.”
“…”
He casually closed his phone.
“What’s the video about?”
“A piano performance.”
“Oh! You’re starting piano again?”
As Yoo Hyesung, I had played piano before.
I didn’t remember at first, but during rehab, my family reminded me.
And apparently, it hadn’t just been a hobby.
“You even entered a lot of competitions.”
I had been studying piano seriously.
So… was becoming a pianist my dream?
I couldn’t remember that part yet—some holes remained from the coma.
“Well, since my one and only nephew is asking, of course I’ll help—even if I was writing a résumé.”
“You were watching YouTube.”
“…No, I wasn’t.”
He cleared his throat.
“Have you thought about where to shoot?”
“At the academy, of course. It has a piano.”
“Nah, the weather’s great today. How about Nodeul Island? They’ve got outdoor pianos there.”
He seemed way too excited.
Guess he saw it as a fun outing.
“Outdoor shots look prettier too.”
“Fine, okay.”
So that’s what we did.
We left around lunchtime.
“Wow, there are a lot of people out today.”
Typical crowd for 1 PM on a Saturday.
Uncle looked around.
“Where’s the piano?”
Nodeul Island was huge—easy to get lost.
But I was already hearing something—
A faint twinkle.
Focusing on the sound, the twinkle grew clearer.
“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
A piece composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who once called himself Amadé.
The first and simplest theme.
I walked toward the music.
“Are you sure this is the way?”
“Probably.”
As the piano sounds became more distinct, Uncle stopped grumbling.
“Wow, still got sharp ears, huh?”
“Perfect spot.”
We set up the tripod.
The man currently playing the piano stood up awkwardly.
“Are you filming?”
As he stepped aside, Uncle waved his hands.
“No, it’s okay. We didn’t reserve this. We’ll just wait.”
“I’m done anyway. I’ve played all I know.”
The man glanced between the camera and me.
“You filming this… are you a piano major?”
“A major…?”
Uncle tilted his head.
I had majored in piano as a kid, but then fell into a coma—so technically, it was vague.
“Just… making some memories?”
Like he was trying to lower expectations.
But I found it amusing.
Soon, Uncle’s reaction would be priceless.
“Aw, that’s sweet. You two look great together!”
Uncle smiled proudly.
Maybe he felt like a kid again.
“He’s my nephew, actually.”
“Oh? I thought you were brothers. You look alike.”
“Hear that often. …Don’t scowl, Hyesung.”
Then, a few people began to murmur behind me.
“Whoa, someone’s filming a performance!”
“Let’s watch a bit.”
“Don’t expect too much, folks! No pressure for the kid!”
“He’s really good-looking though!”
A small crowd had gathered. Maybe 5–6 people.
By the time I turned around after playing, who knew how many would be there?
Basking in their attention—
I sat at the piano bench.
Ran my fingers lightly across the keys.
The coldness seeped into my fingertips.
The winter air lingered on each key.
My heart pounded.
No one knew how badly I had longed for this moment.
How much I had yearned for it.
“Ha…”
A breath escaped, laced with emotion.
It touched the keys and scattered.
Carefully, I pressed one key.
Infusing it with the warmth of anticipation.
It felt like the keys were melting into spring.
The tone was slightly different from the pianos I’d played in the 19th century—
But the essence was the same.
We hadn’t forgotten each other’s language.
My hand lifted slowly from the keys.
Then I opened my palm wide.
I had recovered.
These were still the hands of a sixteen-year-old, not yet fully grown.
But it didn’t matter.
Back then, people thought my hands were massive.
But that was a huge misunderstanding.
They could only reach 9–10 keys max.
What made those performances possible wasn’t the size of my hands—
It was my refined technique.
So, these hands were more than enough.
Especially for a piece of my own.
‘What piece should I play?’
Out of the countless pieces I had composed,
One came to mind. A heroic epic that fit this moment perfectly.
I closed my eyes.
A vision appeared behind my lids.
A quiet chandelier glow.
The scent of perfume filling the hall.
Murmurs of nobility and royalty.
And me, standing center stage.
April 1851.
The Grand Ducal Theater in Weimar.
That was the day of this piece’s premiere.
As my fingers rested on the keys, past and present overlapped.
I pressed the first note—
Returning to that day.
In my past life, I was…
The man known as the King of the Piano—
Franz Liszt.
― “Mazeppa.”
