The sound of a violin drifted softly from somewhere.
The gentle melody of the string instrument spread out, as if someone were whispering quietly.
A viola and cello joined in after it.
‘What piece was this again?’
The sound floated like mist, wrapping around Seoha.
‘Ah! Bach’s Sinfonia!’
A stage unfolded before his eyes.
A space both unfamiliar and familiar.
Seoha looked around.
The soaring ceiling was made of wood. The walls and floor, too, were entirely wooden.
The gilded Baroque ornaments fixed to the walls stirred a strange sense of déjà vu in him.
The candles set in the candlesticks flickered in the wind, dyeing the entire hall in warm yellow light.
‘Huh? Where is this?’
Seoha was sitting on a wooden chair around the middle of the hall.
Up ahead, he could see large, splendid chairs. People dressed in elegant clothes were seated there.
Wigs he had only ever seen in portraits; the women were all wearing voluminous, puffed-out dresses.
‘The seventeenth century?’
Viiing— saaa— iiing—
The sweet melody of the violin grew fainter and fainter as the piece came to an end.
At that moment, someone beside him sprang to his feet, raised both hands high, and applauded.
“Bravo!”
Startled by the sudden shout, Seoha looked to the side.
A man with a face that felt somehow familiar.
He was not very tall, but he was fat, his belly jutting out.
‘Where have I seen this man before?’
On his head was a large Baroque-style wig.
His appearance was comical, but in his eyes, Seoha could sense a deep intelligence like an abyss.
Clap, clap, clap!
He rose from his seat and sent fervent cheers toward the performers.
“A perfect structure, beautiful balance and symmetry! Bach must have been a man who understood the divine!”
He turned and looked straight at Seoha.
“Do you not think so as well, Seoha Hartmann?”
Seoha felt as if every hair on his body were standing on end.
But he could not ignore the man’s gaze, which demanded an answer, and barely managed to speak.
“...I don’t know about the divine, but I’m certain he understood mathematics.”
The man looked utterly aghast, then stepped closer to Seoha and whispered.
“Shh! Do not say such blasphemous things where there are so many people. We should go home.”
Once they stepped out of the theater, the smell of the wind changed.
The cool, damp scent of earth rising from the street, the stench of filth someone had thrown away, and the dust and lime smell emitted by old stone buildings mingled together, making nausea rise in him with every breath.
“Why do you have that look on your face?”
The man looked at Seoha with a puzzled expression.
“It’s nothing.”
The language he was speaking was Middle German.
In the distance, two towering spires could be seen. The Marktkirche, a historic building of Germany.
‘Hm? How do I know that?’
As Seoha conversed with him, he naturally gathered information.
The fat middle-aged man was Leibniz, a seventeenth-century German mathematician, and he himself was supposedly Leibniz’s one and only disciple. He was living as an apprentice in the man’s house, learning mathematics and philosophy.
‘Seoha Hartmann. Is that my name?’
Rattle, rattle.
A carriage adorned with splendid decorations approached.
The two stepped aside to the edge of the road and waited for it to pass.
“Whoa!”
When the coachman pulled on the reins, the horse stopped, snorting harshly.
“Lower your head and wait a moment. It seems to be a noble of high standing.”
Seoha quietly swallowed.
Clack.
The carriage door opened, and a beautiful noblewoman stepped down.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Seoha lifted his eyes.
“Huh?”
Transparent skin that seemed to hold light, calm eyes.
Even though she was wearing a seventeenth-century dress, Seoha recognized her at once.
But he could not remember who she was.
‘She seems like someone I know...’
She snapped open her fan and covered her face with an elegant gesture.
“That is Lady Winterfeld, daughter of the count.”
Leibniz whispered.
“Winterfeld.”
Seoha quietly repeated her name. He felt as if he was on the verge of remembering, but it was as though a thick fog had descended before his eyes.
She approached with light, graceful steps and brushed past Seoha.
Seoha stared after her blankly.
After returning home, Seoha prepared Leibniz’s meal.
It was not as though he had cooked often, yet he did everything naturally, as if his body remembered.
The cast-iron pot hanging over the fireplace, the three-legged pot, the mortar for grinding spices—everything was familiar.
A meal consisting of brick-hard bread (Schwarzbrot) and cabbage stew. The two sat facing each other at the table and enjoyed a simple dinner.
Leibniz’s day was simple.
He studied mathematics and frequently stayed up all night. To him, morning was merely the time when he no longer needed to keep candles lit.
No one visited his house.
Leibniz’s human relationships existed solely out of necessity.
As a diplomat and administrator, he had to meet many people, but he never exchanged more words with anyone than necessary.
Contact with his family was rare, and he had not even a lover, let alone someone he could call a friend.
A few days later, at dinnertime,
he looked at Seoha with a disappointed gaze.
“You could not take your eyes off Lady Winterfeld again today.”
“Cough, cough!”
He nodded as if he understood everything.
“I understand. She is a beautiful person. But keep this in mind. If you desire achievement, never give your heart to a woman.”
It was far too sudden a remark.
Not understanding why, Seoha looked puzzled.
“Pardon?”
“What do you think Sir Isaac Newton and I have in common?”
Newton?
He knew him. Knowledge flowed naturally from Seoha’s mouth.
“You both devised calculus around the same time.”
Leibniz shook his head.
“That is merely the result. What commonality did we have that allowed us to accomplish such a thing?”
Leibniz gazed out at the darkness beyond the window as if addressing an old friend.
Seoha saw an unmistakable loneliness on his face.
“It is that we kept women at a distance our entire lives.”
Seoha blinked.
“Pardon?”
He continued in a calm tone.
“All our lives, we neither married nor even engaged in romance. Women are beings who demand a dreadful amount of time and emotion. No matter how extraordinary a man may be, once he gives his heart to the opposite sex, his concentration is bound to waver. It means the driving force of life becomes dispersed.”
At his utterly serious expression, Seoha gulped.
“It is not only women. All people are like that. Relationships with family and friends only interfere with research. For those of us who pursue truth, they are entirely unnecessary.
He and I realized this early on, which is why we were able to leave behind great achievements.”
He took a sip of water.
Then he looked straight at Seoha and said,
“You have talent. And your attitude toward life is also similar to mine.”
Unable to hold back, Seoha retorted.
“Me? No, it isn’t. My family and friends are all precious to me.”
Leibniz shook his head, then spoke with a resolute face.
“No.
Seoha Hartmann, I know you. What you value most is the search for truth. Everything else is merely secondary.
Family? Friends?
When the time comes, you will abandon them all. How do I know? Because Sir Newton and I did so. The power God has allowed us is limited.
Seoha, you too will soon realize that you must reduce ‘waste.’”
He was confused.
What did this man know about him to say such cruel things?
But Seoha could not say that his words were completely false. If he could understand all the laws of the world, how far would he be willing to pay the price?
“Forget Lady Winterfeld. I offer this advice as one who has already walked that path. Marriage is the height of waste.”
He could not bear it.
Just as Seoha was about to flare up and talk back, a knock sounded.
Knock, knock.
Seoha unclenched his fist, slowly rose, and opened the front door.
“Hellooo.”
A little girl wearing a red cloth over her head stood there, holding a small duck in her arms.
Seoha felt such a powerful sense of déjà vu that his head seemed about to split.
“Quack, quack!”
“Be quiet, Ducky. You’re startling him.
Excuse me. My mother told me to bring you some bread.”
She handed over the bread, then waved and began to walk away.
Seoha hurriedly called out to her.
“Wait! Your name... What’s your name?”
The girl smiled brightly like sunshine.
“Line. My name is Aureline.”
Clack.
After closing the door, Seoha leaned his head against the wall and thought about the name he had just heard.
“Aureline.”
A word derived from Latin.
It meant the grace of dawn, the blessing of daybreak.
“Seo-eun (曙恩)?”
Seoha murmured the name once more.
“Aureline... Seo-eun.”
In that instant, sparks flew inside his head.
The two names overlapped into one, and an immense flood of memories poured in.
The nostalgic hanok in Okcheon. Seo-eun was running across the wooden floor.
“Oppa! Let’s play number games!”
Seoha’s eyes flew open.
Then he strode over and stood before Leibniz.
Leibniz was looking at him with interest.
“Teacher, I will not live like you. My family and friends are precious to me.”
Leibniz furrowed his brow.
“Are you saying you will give up the truth? You?”
Seoha shook his head.
“No. I intend to have it all. My precious family, the friends who care for me, and even my future partner—not leaving out a single one.”
A shadow of the loneliness Leibniz had hidden all this time passed across his face.
“What a grand ideal.
It is not only us. Among the great scholars of your era, was there even one who was devoted to family life? Tell me.
Einstein, Neumann, Alan Turing—none of them formed normal families. Do you think you can approach the truth without paying the cost?”
For the first time since coming here, Seoha became wholly himself.
“I can do it.”
“Why?”
The corners of Seoha’s mouth rose. And with eyes that held not a shred of doubt, he said,
“Because I am superior to all of you.”
Leibniz’s mouth fell open.
“Then, I’ll see you again someday. I have a lot I want to ask.”
“Seoha Hartmann!”
“Call me properly. My name is Yu Seoha.”
“Yu Seoha?”
“Yes, remember it. It’s a name that will be recorded far ahead of yours in the history of mathematics.”
Seoha kicked the door open and left the house.
Running along a seventeenth-century cobblestone street in uncomfortable leather shoes, he could not move as fast as he wanted.
‘I have to go back.’
This was probably a dream.
In a dream, the length of time is proportional to the processing speed of consciousness.
Considering his own cognitive ability...
Seoha realized that five minutes in reality could stretch here to something close to infinity.
‘Wake up already! Don’t tell me I have to live here for the rest of my life?’
He ran aimlessly down the street.
‘Where am I supposed to go?’
What appeared before him was a magnificent mansion like a palace, with the crest of the Count Winterfeld’s family embedded at the entrance.
Seoha unconsciously entered.
The hall was bright enough to make his eyes ache.
‘There shouldn’t even be electricity...’
When he looked up at the ceiling, a splendid chandelier was pouring down light.
The floor was smoothly polished marble, and dozens of people were dancing elegantly to the music.
“...A ball?”
An orchestra was playing music.
A rhythm similar to a waltz, but a little more rugged.
The clinking of glasses, the sound of people chattering here and there—Seoha stood frozen by the door.
“Lady Winterfeld has arrived!”
At the cry of someone who seemed to be the butler, everyone’s gaze turned to one place.
When Seoha turned his head, he saw someone descending.
A hand clad in a white glove,
a dress of soft ivory,
and from her slender waist, a full skirt poured down like a waterfall.
It was winter.