[ The youngest Korean to win 1st place in the Queen Elisabeth Competition – Violin Division, Han Yuhyeon ]

[ The Reincarnation of Paganini, the World’s Most Promising Violinist – Han Yuhyeon ]

At a record-breaking age, he had won first place in the violin division of the Queen Elisabeth Competition, one of the world’s three major music competitions.

“To be as skilled on the piano as he is on the violin—it’s as if we’re witnessing Johann Strauss himself!”

“No, he is truly the reincarnation of Paganini!”

Beyond string instruments, he mastered woodwinds, brass, and more, displaying unparalleled musical talent.

Some claimed Johann Strauss had returned; others praised him as the reincarnation of Salieri, Mozart, or Beethoven.

Even the name of Paganini—known for his devilish talent—was invoked in awe.

He could play every existing instrument and even showed extraordinary skill in composition. No title seemed grand enough to encapsulate his brilliance.

“A new Saint of Music has been born! Yuhyeon is nothing short of a musical savant!”

People had no doubt that, given time, Yuhyeon would grow into a legendary musician, one to define the century.

But—

That same prodigy vanished from the public’s memory in an instant.

Hoooonk—!

On the day of his highly anticipated debut concert in Korea—

Crash—!

—his life was irreversibly changed.

At just fifteen years old.

*  *  *

– “It’s an unknown cause, making it difficult to treat with modern medicine.”

Yuhyeon’s gaze locked onto the doctor’s lips. He swiftly caught the keywords and pieced them together into meaning.

“…So, you’re saying I’ll have to live without my hearing from now on?”

He had learned to communicate through lip reading. By analyzing facial expressions and lip movements, he could understand speech—an essential skill for the hearing impaired.

Since the accident that robbed him of his hearing, he had quickly adapted, managing to hold conversations as if he were a regular person.

“We strongly recommend ongoing rehabilitation. With consistent treatment and observation, there may be improvements in the future…”

He had heard these words countless times. Every visit, the same reassurances.

A year had passed this way. Even today, as he sat in the doctor’s office, his voice trembled with desperation.

“Is there still no solution? No cases where someone regained their hearing? No new surgical advancements?”

His desperation spilled into words. But the doctor merely shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

A year of relentless struggle. A year of no progress.

A shadow of despair loomed over Yuhyeon’s face.

“Still, if you continue therapy and regular check-ups, there’s a chance that someday—”

“Thank you… for everything you’ve done so far.”

Leaving behind those words, Yuhyeon disappeared from the world.

The boy once hailed as a Saint of Music was no more.

*  *  *

A dark, windowless one-room apartment.

A man sat hunched over, illuminated only by the pale glow of a monitor, tapping away at a master keyboard.

He was composing a classical piece on commission.

[ Sumare CEO: I checked the piece you sent. Is this the final version? ]

His eyes narrowed at the message.

‘Did I make another mistake…?’

[ Sumare CEO: The composition is solid, but between 2:45 and 2:52, the background harmonies sound off, almost like dissonance. ]

Quickly, Yuhyeon scanned the sheet music.

‘That can’t be right. I checked it multiple times.’

If he could just play it on a keyboard, he’d confirm it instantly. But instead of placing his hands on the keys, he closed his eyes and played the notes in his head.

A moment later, he reopened them.

“…The CEO was right. This is bad… I’m gradually losing my notes.”

With a sigh, he scratched out corrections on the score, then sent a message back confirming he’d meet the deadline.

[ Sumare CEO: Please have it in by the day after tomorrow. If this goes well, I’ll refer you to other clients. The fashion industry is trending toward classical music these days. ]

Rubbing his dry, aching eyes, Yuhyeon replied with a promise to do his best.

He could no longer hear, but the remnants of sound in his memory still allowed him to compose.

Once a musical genius, now an unknown composer at twenty-five.

*  *  *

Hours passed.

[ Sumare CEO: The dissonance is gone. Sounds great! Just needs mastering. ]

Yuhyeon had finally reached the finishing stage.

Mastering was like the final proofreading of a novel—fine-tuning to ensure a polished result.

“Ugh… my back, my neck…”

Stretching, he groaned as his stiff muscles protested. His whole body ached.

“Just a short break.”

He needed a beer—something ice-cold, enough to numb his teeth. Grabbing a can from the fridge, he leaned against the wall.

“Hah…”

At least he’d make rent this month. That was, if the client paid on time.

“What about next month?”

The worry gnawed at him before he’d even finished his current job. With demand for classical music declining, commissions were drying up.

“Sigh, thinking about it just makes my head hurt…”

His gaze drifted to a shelf.

There, a framed photo from his past stared back at him.

A snapshot of his triumph at the Queen Elisabeth Competition. Another from his duet with the world-renowned maestro, Andersen…

“……”

Once, he had been a rising star in the classical world.

Growing up in an orphanage, he had first picked up a violin thanks to a benefactor’s sponsorship. From there, he clawed his way to international fame.

His future had seemed like a path paved in gold.

[ The youngest Korean violinist to win a major international competition returns home today. ]

[ Han Yuhyeon’s first solo recital is completely sold out—an unprecedented feat for a classical concert. ]

At fifteen, basking in the spotlight, Yuhyeon had never been happier.

His golden age.

And then—

Hoooonk—!

On the day of his debut recital, in a sold-out venue of fifty thousand—

A truck, driven by a drowsy driver, veered into his car.

That crash stole his hearing.

Surviving at all had been a miracle. But for a musician, losing hearing was akin to a death sentence.

For over a year, he traveled the world, desperate for a cure. He drained his prize money, spent every penny he’d earned, only to hear the same answer:

‘Your nerves appear undamaged, but the cause is unclear. For now, focus on rehabilitation…’

In other words, there was no cure.

That day, Yuhyeon lost all hope.

He vanished from the public eye. That was ten years ago.

He had tried returning to the stage, but a deaf musician inevitably made mistakes. And mistakes had no place in professional performance.

So he turned to composing.

Yet now—

‘I can’t even remember sounds properly anymore.’

His compositions were suffering. Clients noticed.

— “The harmonies feel slightly off.”

— “Lacks the vibrancy of your earlier works.”

Music was his livelihood. But without hearing, without memory—

‘What am I supposed to do now?’

The thought alone made his vision darken.

Then—

Blink. Blink.

The sensor light at the entrance flickered on. It was a device meant to notify the house’s occupant of a visitor.

Soon, a man stepped through the front door. Han Yuhyeon’s only real friend—someone who had been with him since their orphanage days. Park Sangcheol.

“Yuhyeon! Hyung’s here… Ugh, just look at this place.”

Sangcheol grimaced the moment he entered the room.

A dark and cluttered space, beer cans and instant noodle containers scattered across the floor.

It looked less like a place where a person lived and more like a den for someone wasting away.

“You’re at it again. Turn on the lights, clean up a little. Go outside once in a while, for god’s sake.”

“…I have a deadline tomorrow. I’m too busy to deal with this right now. I don’t even have time to eat.”

Despite Yuhyeon’s grumbling, Sangcheol ignored him and started tidying up.

“You said your music’s not coming out well lately. Of course, it’s not! You’re holed up in here 24/7, staring at your computer screen. A composer needs fresh air, some sunlight, a little inspiration…”

It was the kind of nagging only a close friend could get away with.

But Yuhyeon’s reaction was unusually sharp this time.

“And if I go out? What difference will that make?”

“Huh?”

“If I go outside, will I suddenly be able to hear again?”

His voice was cold and detached, the words hanging in the air like a blade.

“……”

A heavy silence filled the room.

Realizing he had let his emotions slip, Yuhyeon’s expression softened as he muttered an apology.

“…Sorry. I guess I’m just on edge because of the deadline. I’ve been really stressed lately…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don’t worry about it. But I’m telling you, this is all because you never leave this damn room. If I lived in a place like this, I’d be stressed too.”

Sangcheol understood better than anyone why Yuhyeon was the way he was.

Growing up in an orphanage, losing his hearing—it was one hardship after another.

Developing a fear of social interactions was hardly surprising.

But even so…

‘It’s just a damn shame to see him wasting away like this.’

Was it because he had once shone so brightly?

Other people with hearing impairments managed to live normal lives.

If music was too difficult, there were other paths he could take.

The past was the past—he needed to let it go and start anew.

That’s why Sangcheol kept visiting him, kept looking after him.

“Hey, instead of moping, wanna go play a game or something? Ever heard of Wonderland? It’s all the rage right now.”

“…I don’t have time for games. My deadline’s right around the corner.”

“Oh yeah? When is it?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow afternoon? Then you’ve got time to take a break!”

Sangcheol grinned.

“Come on, let’s go out. I’ll pay for everything—dinner, whatever comes next. Games, movies, you name it!”

“Hah… Fine.”

After persistent coaxing, Yuhyeon finally relented.

Truthfully, he knew how much Sangcheol did for him.

Every time he tried to retreat into his shell, Sangcheol would show up out of nowhere and drag him back out.

And yet, all he ever did in return was lash out like an ungrateful brat.

That realization made him feel pathetic.

So in a barely audible voice, he muttered, “…Just give me a second. I’ll take a quick shower.”

For the first time in a while, a faint smile tugged at Yuhyeon’s lips.

*  *  *

Their destination was a local barbecue joint.

Yuhyeon was mid-sip of his beer when he nearly choked on Sangcheol’s words.

“Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Haha! Yeah, man. I hit level 30 in Wonderland. Made 50 gold just this month.”

“And how much is that worth?”

“One gold is about 10,000 won in real money. So after deductions, I pocketed around 500,000 won. That’s half a million, just for playing! Heh!”

Yuhyeon’s eyes widened.

“…You’re telling me you made money from a game? That’s actually possible?”

He had never played an online game before.

But he prided himself on keeping up with the world. Internet, news, YouTube—he wasn’t living under a rock.

And yet, what Sangcheol was saying completely shattered his understanding of reality.

“Dude, where have you been? These days, top-ranked players and streamers are like walking corporations. You don’t even have to be a pro. Plenty of people make a living off fun content alone.”

It sounded absurd.

Some streamers earned enough to be called “walking corporations”?

“So what, people don’t even need real jobs anymore? They just play games for a living?”

“You haven’t heard? Taking vacation days just to grind Wonderland is a full-on trend. If they land a rare job class or an expensive item, they quit their jobs on the spot and become full-time streamers.”

“…The hell is this world coming to?”

What he had jokingly said was a reality for others.

While he spent sleepless nights hammering away at musical notes just to scrape by, others were quitting stable jobs because they got lucky in a video game.

The world had changed too much while he was stuck inside.

“The game’s been out for three years, but less than 10% of the content has been unlocked. It’s basically a gold mine. A single good weapon can sell for hundreds or even thousands. Wonderland’s the new lottery, man.”

“But is there something a newbie like you can actually make money from?”

“Hey! Level 30 isn’t a total newbie, okay? Wait a sec… Don’t tell me you’re actually interested now?”

“Well…”

Yuhyeon trailed off, his expression unreadable.

From what he was hearing, it sounded like a dream job—money for having fun.

And given that his composing career was already on shaky ground, maybe it was time to consider other options.

So, with surprising honesty, he admitted, “If I can really make money from it, then yeah, I’m interested. But… would it even work for me? I mean, with my hearing… I feel like I’d be at a major disadvantage.”

“You lip-read like a pro. Half the time, I forget you’re even deaf. Whatever, let’s just go check it out.”

“Wait, right now?”

“We were gonna hang out anyway. Let’s see if it’s doable or not.”

Sangcheol practically dragged Yuhyeon out of the samgyeopsal restaurant and led him to a nearby capsule room.

“That’ll be 60,000 won for three hours for two adults.”

Without hesitation, Sangcheol paid for both of them.

“I’ll pay with my card.”

Yuhyeon, startled by the unexpectedly high price, widened his eyes.

“H-hyung. Isn’t that way too expensive? You already paid for the samgyeopsal earlier! That alone was well over 100,000 won…”

“Yuhyeon, are you really going to stress over this after coming all the way here? Just let go of your worries and have fun, at least for today.”

Sangcheol rested his hand on Yuhyeon’s shoulder with a reassuring smile.

“I’m not struggling so much that I can’t do this for you. So stop overthinking and just enjoy yourself, got it?”

Sangcheol had always been that kind of person.

The one who pulled him out into the world whenever things got tough.

Yuhyeon, touched by the thought, smiled.

“I’ll pay you back later, hyung. Seriously, thanks.”

“Haha, just treat me to a meal if you get a good item.”

Grinning, Sangcheol stepped into his assigned capsule.

“Anyway, once we’re in the game, I’ll send you a friend request, so keep an eye out. Have fun!”

“Got it! You too, hyung!”

After watching Sangcheol disappear inside, Yuhyeon turned toward his own designated capsule.

Inside, it looked like something straight out of an sci-fi movie—a sleek chair surrounded by holographic monitors.

‘…Do I just sit down?’

With a doubtful expression, he carefully took a seat. The capsule’s wires extended toward him on their own, fastening themselves snugly around his body.

Psshhh—

As the capsule sealed shut, the lighting dimmed.

At the same time, a bright holographic interface flickered to life before his eyes.

[ Would you like to log into Wonderland? If you wish to proceed, please say “Login.” ]

Yuhyeon flinched at the sudden notification but quickly regained his composure.

“Login.”

At that moment, he had no idea…

‘It’d be nice if I at least got a decent item out of this.’

…That the game he had joined on a whim, simply to follow his hyung—

‘If I get lucky, I can treat hyung to a meal… Maybe even use the extra money as spending cash.’

—would turn his entire life around.

Something he couldn’t even begin to imagine was about to unfold.
 

To be continued

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