In the ballroom, Asher sipped champagne, his hand cupping his chin.

"Where have I heard that song? I know it... I'm certain. Perhaps it's Besptoven? Ludwig van Besptoven—indeed, this should be his pièce de résistance, Moonlight Sonata.

That shift I heard is presumably the beginning of the second movement, 'Allegretto.'

Curious choice of music for such an event. Then again, it wouldn't be the only one.

Asher looked around for Professor Hofsberg, hoping to enjoy his company a little longer before departing.

He was concerned about the incident in the washroom.

Sleep cannot be delayed any longer, I'm afraid. If I cannot locate the professor, I'll have to take my leave.

Sauntering through the dwindling guests, he searched for the jovial old man.

A waiter approached him, handing him another glass of champagne and taking his empty glass in exchange.

Once again, he was offered a tray of food, but he could only politely decline.

His search bore no fruit; he couldn't find the professor anywhere.

Perhaps the second floor. Then I'll check the balcony; maybe he is mingling. He did say his attendance was related to securing funding for the department faculty.

As he walked up the staircase, he noticed a gorgeous mahogany grandfather clock announcing the hour. He glanced at the clock face and saw it was pointing toward 9. Shame that clock isn't being maintained; it's truly being wasted here.

It couldn't be 9; he had arrived only a quarter to 9 himself. It certainly had not been 12 hours since then. Therefore, he could only assume the clock was off for some reason or another.

Perhaps it needs a good wind to return it to reality.

Asher poked his head around the second-floor balconies, careful not to stray too far from the venue.

After all, the ball was being held in a mansion; to whom it belonged, he did not know.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Moments later, Asher felt a pang of disappointment. The old man really left before him. What sort of cruelty is this?

Aren't I the one meant to enjoy such privilege, being the hopeful research student that I am? Unbelievable professor! Just wait until I see you on Monday!

Feeling betrayed but mostly tired, he returned to the main venue. He had noticed before, but now it seemed that almost everyone had left.

In the beginning, there must have been around 120 attendees. Now, though, there were maybe 36 still socializing.

In that case, it shouldn't be improper to depart myself. Thinking as much, he made up his mind.

Placing his champagne on a nearby table, he turned to leave toward the parlor.

At that moment, the pianist seemed to pause for dramatic effect before launching into the third and final movement of Moonlight Sonata, Presto Agitato.

It was a very technical piece; as far as he knew, it required expert finesse. It demanded extremely quick fingers—whoever this pianist was, they were very talented.

He felt the tension in the music; in fact, he himself was tense. He grew somewhat nervous as the music reached its crescendo, matching the rapid beat of his own heartbeat.

In that moment, a man dressed in a formal black suit and gray trench coat entered. It was peculiar since any guest would have left such a coat with the valet. Additionally, he seemed to be going against the tide; the majority of guests had already left—why was he arriving so late? He appeared to be middle-aged, somewhere in his 40s; his hair was black and thin, carefully combed to disguise his balding hairline.

Inevitably, such practices did not work, but Asher didn’t fault the man for trying.

His blue eyes seemed lost, as if he wasn’t really looking where they faced. There were subtle bags under his eyes.

The man approached Asher, seeing that he was entering as Asher left. He was currently standing in Asher’s trajectory, and Asher offered him a polite smile.

"Good evening. The night is surely cold. It pains me to know some had to endure it."

The man responded with a smile of his own, removing his trench coat and placing it over his arm.

"Yes, well, as they say, everything easy isn't worth the time of day."

Asher wasn't entirely sure what the man meant by that. Rarely was he the one eating vinegar with a fork.

"The ball is just about to end, though the pianist seems to suggest otherwise. Whoever it is, they are truly quite the talent. I'd venture to say they will soon be quite famous."

The man looked at him with a bit of surprise, the weariness evident on his face.

"How strange. I didn't think there would be anyone here capable of enjoying such melodies. Say, what is your name?"

"Asher Moretti. Pleased to meet you."

The man studied Asher’s face for a moment, then lit up a cigarette.

Asher thought for a moment.

What did the man mean by that? Why wouldn’t he be capable of hearing the music? It had been playing all night.

Asher glanced over at the piano, his gaze lingering on the piano stool.

If he had not put his champagne glass down, he would have dropped it.

There was no one there, yet the music was loud, reaching its climax.

He felt goosebumps rise and his tendons grow taut. His muscles tensed, and his breath caught. Like a movie on rewind, his memories flowed backward.