Ebony Castle

The next afternoon, Hazel and Ulysses saw Doha off to the front of the mansion. Though he knew it was a formal farewell from the housekeeper, Doha kept watching the stiff silhouette of the red-haired woman shrinking in the truck’s rearview mirror. Jean, who glanced at him from the driver’s seat, said:

“He must be working even now, huh?”

“…Pardon?”

“Don’t take it too personally.”

Doha then realized Jean was talking about Tristan. When he’d woken up in Tristan’s bed that morning, the man was already gone. Now, Doha could not only move his pinky finger, but also the ring finger and the other hand’s pinky. But there was no opportunity to show him.

Not that Doha expected Tristan to see him off. Why would he? As the mansion disappeared from the rearview mirror, Doha finally replied.

“I’ll see him soon enough anyway.”

“That’s right. Eden, you’ll be back in ten days.”

Jean stopped the car in front of Peter’s house in the village and helped Doha undo his seatbelt before speaking as if he’d just remembered something.

“Oh, by the way, there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you come back. I’m working hard on it.”

“…A surprise? What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

Jean winked at him.

“Take care of yourself. And eat properly.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure.”

Before entering Peter’s house, Doha stood for a moment, watching Jean’s truck drive off. The sturdy, mud-caked wheels rolled back up the dirt path to the mansion, and soon the rattling, worn truck disappeared behind the trees.

The journey back to London was much smoother than the trip there. He arrived at the airport on time, and the flight departed as scheduled. After a little under two hours in the air, they landed at Heathrow, where the winter sun had already set over the vast airfield.

Doha felt dazed as he took the train from the airport and transferred to the Underground at Paddington. Maybe it was the sudden change of scenery. Though there wasn’t a time difference, it felt like the same kind of exhaustion. His body moved through the bustling crowd at Paddington station, but whenever he closed his eyes, the estate’s high ceilings reappeared before him. Even as he waited on the platform, smelling the faint metallic scent of the Underground, it felt as though opening a window would bring the wind from the forest.

Doha walked slowly through the dark, sour-smelling streets of East End, dreamlike, until he arrived in front of his building. The kebab shop on the first floor had no customers again today. As the light from its windows spilled out, Doha rummaged through his backpack.

“…”

And that’s when he realized: after emptying out the contents of his backpack in front of the building’s entrance, he still couldn’t find his familiar keychain.

Just in case, he laboriously opened the inner pockets and searched through them as well. His fingers, which now had much more strength, were helpful. As Doha stood outside for too long, the shop owner, perhaps thinking he was a customer, peered out with a broom. Doha gathered his things back into his bag and leaned against the locked entrance.

Even if someone living in the same building arrived now, his flat keys were on the same keychain. There was no way to get into his own flat. He stood there blankly, and the wind slipped under his worn, thin jacket. A chill settled in his bones.

At that moment, the phone in his bag rang. The screen displayed the name “Secretary.”

“Yes,” Doha answered.

“…How did you know?”

There was a brief pause from the secretary.

“…What?”

Doha had passed by Ulysses’s room before. It was about twice the size of Doha’s flat in London, filled with soft bedding, a giant dog bed, and all sorts of chew toys.

The secretary continued professionally. 

“No, it’s probably because the keys fell in the hallway,” Doha replied.

The keys must have fallen out of his bag on the first night when some of his belongings rolled across the hallway floor. He should have checked if everything was intact the next day, but it was too late for regrets now.

The secretary said. 

“No, I’ll contact the landlord, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll call a locksmith. Please hold on to the keys, and I’ll retrieve them next time. Thank you for letting me know.”

His hands were so numb from the cold that he felt like he might drop the phone. Doha crouched down on the front steps, placing his phone on top of his backpack.

Just as he was about to hang up after hearing the secretary’s reply, there was a sudden commotion on the other end. Ulysses barked from afar, followed by some rustling, before everything quieted down, like the calm after a breeze.

A soft yet clear voice reached his ears.

“…Locke?”

Doha held his breath for no reason. Tristan Locke’s voice, which he heard while sitting in the dark, dirty alley of London, felt surreal, like mercury dripping into muddy water. Even if someone told him Tristan wasn’t in Scotland but in some place beyond this world, he might have believed it.

A man who likely hadn’t had many reasons to apologize in his life continued.

“…It’s not your fault.”

At that moment, the sound of a car engine drew closer. Hoping it was a neighbor, Doha shielded his eyes from the headlights with one hand. The car sped up as it neared and zoomed past him.

“I’ve contacted the landlord to get a spare key. If that doesn’t work, I’ll call a locksmith. I can handle it, so it’s fine.”

The man, who had probably never contacted a locksmith in his life, repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“…Pardon?”

Doha tried to recall. The familiar keychain, so commonplace that he had forgotten it even existed, was a cheap plastic one with a black music note on it. He couldn’t even remember where he got it.

“It’s nothing special.”

Understanding Tristan’s dry remark, Doha quickly added, “You can throw it away.”

Ulysses had likely chewed it to pieces, leaving it covered in bite marks and dog drool.

Tristan concluded.

Doha replied, “Yes. I’ll see you in ten days.”

There was no response, and the call ended. The sounds of the street, which he had forgotten, slowly filled his ears again.

***

Thirty minutes later, Doha found himself inside the ground-floor restaurant. Although it wasn’t particularly warm due to the lack of heating, it was still better than being outside. An untouched skewer of grilled meat had gone cold on the plastic plate in front of him.

What had initially seemed like an easy problem to solve when he spoke to the secretary had turned out to be more complicated. After several attempts, he finally reached his landlord, only to be told that he couldn’t call a locksmith due to security concerns. There was a spare key at the landlord’s house, about two subway stops away, but the landlord was out and couldn’t return immediately to hand it over. Doha had no choice but to wait, hoping the landlord would call once they got home.

Though it had only been a short flight, his body was tense, and he longed to lie down anywhere. Even his shabby bed upstairs seemed appealing. He dozed off for a moment, resting his tired body against the table, when his phone rang loudly. Groggily, Doha straightened up and saw an unfamiliar number on the screen. He answered.

“Hello.”

It wasn’t the landlord’s voice. Doha blinked in surprise.

“Yes, this is Eden Yeon.”

“…Julian?”

The voice sounded deeper than he remembered, so Doha wasn’t entirely sure, but as soon as he said the name, a low chuckle came through the phone.

Julian spoke casually, as if the years without contact had never happened, and Doha replied just as naturally.

“I’m sitting in a restaurant outside my house.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t tried it yet. I lost my keys and can’t get into my house.”

A noise that sounded like a door swinging open came from the other end of the phone.

“…What do you mean?”

“Not now. I’ll go get the spare key when the landlord contacts me.”

He was relentless. His personality hadn’t changed at all since college. Doha hesitated, swallowing a sigh, but in the end, he recited the address.

Whether that was a lie or not, fifteen minutes passed before a pair of blinding headlights shone through the restaurant window. Honk, honk— the sound of a car horn reverberated through the alley. Doha blinked his heavy eyelids, grabbed his bag, and opened the door. He felt bloated from forcing himself to finish the skewers, remembering what Tristan Locke had said about hating anything that made his bones ache.

The window of the unfamiliar sports car rolled down, and Julian Svensson’s head popped out. His striking platinum blonde hair gleamed in the light.

“Eden! Get in.”

He spoke with such energy, as if they hadn’t just seen each other a few days ago.

“Be careful. This car door opens weirdly. You can manage, right?”

“Yeah.”

Though it would have been impossible to hide his stiff hand, Doha took an unusually long time trying to open the unfamiliar car door with his rigid hand edge. Even when he finally managed to open the door, he avoided looking at Julian’s face as he quietly sat down. After struggling again to fasten his seatbelt, he placed his stiff hand openly on his lap instead of trying to hide it.

Julian took his eyes off Doha’s hand and noisily started the car. The engine had clearly been modified, as the growling sound was anything but ordinary. Suddenly, Doha asked what was on his mind.

“What about the motorcycle?”

Julian, gripping the steering wheel with one hand, grimaced.

“Can’t ride it anymore. It’s in the contract I signed with Richard—if I ride it, I’m done.”

He gestured a slicing motion across his neck.

“I begged to keep it just to look at, but Richard took the keys.”

“I’m sure your mentor was thrilled. He was worried it was dangerous.”

“It’s all pointless nagging. If I’m going to get in an accident, this car is enough for that.”

Despite his grumbling, Julian’s sports car was shockingly stable compared to the motorcycle he used to ride in college. The heater was warming the air, and the car’s passenger seat was far more comfortable than the restaurant’s hard plastic chairs. Doha gazed out at the riverside before closing his eyes. He rested his cheek against the seatbelt and dozed off, only to wake up to the sound of the engine shutting off.

“Get out, go sleep inside.”

Julian forcibly snatched the bag from Doha’s lap.

“There’s a sofa inside.”

“…Oh, here.”

Once he stepped out of the car, Doha recognized the building’s exterior. It was one of the practice rooms that graduates from his school often visited. The rooms were large, and the hourly rental price was high, so Doha hadn’t used it much, but he remembered the sound system was decent.

“It’s a good place to practice.”

Julian said as he tapped his card at the entrance.

“I have a practice room at home too, but I can’t focus there.”

Even though it was late in the evening, many rooms still had their lights on. Julian opened a room at the end of the hallway, where a grand piano stood, and gestured for Doha to enter. It seemed he had been there before picking up Doha, as his belongings were messily scattered on the leather sofa, and sheet music marked with pencil scratches lay on the piano stand.

“Take a seat.”

Julian said as he swept the stuff off the sofa.

“You’re practicing?”

“Yeah. I have a performance with the London Philharmonic next month. Tell me what you think after listening.”

Under the bright light, Julian didn’t look much different from when they were in college. His long hair, which reached his shoulders, was pulled back with a headband and tied at the back like a ponytail.

Doha sat quietly on the sofa. Even in his loose training clothes, Julian moved with the habitual flourish of someone sweeping back the tails of a formal coat as he settled on the piano stool. After turning his hands a few times, his long, firm fingers descended onto the keys.

Skipping the orchestral introduction, Julian’s fingers swept across the piano like waves. It was the third movement of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2.

For about ten minutes, Doha sat still on the sofa. By the middle of the piece, he had closed his eyes to focus on the music. Though the practice room was too small to handle the grand piano’s acoustics, Julian’s performance was so brilliant that it echoed with the grandeur of a concert hall, accompanied by the sound of a skilled orchestra that had likely rehearsed with him.

Doha opened his eyes just before the final, intense sequence. Like a paused painting, he saw Julian’s forearms, tense as drawn bowstrings, and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

With a final dramatic chord, Julian lifted his hands from the keys and let out a long breath. His tightly shut eyelids lifted, revealing his blue eyes.

“How was it?”

He asked, slumping over the music stand.

“…Good. You played well.”

“Right?”

Julian grinned widely, his tension finally easing.

“I’ve decided to go with this tempo. Didn’t Eden perform this piece faster when he collaborated with the school orchestra?”

“…Yeah, it was faster.”

Julian stood up, wiping his sweat with a crumpled handkerchief from the table, then sat back down on the stool.

“Here, listen again. I’m still debating. Which is better, the first or the second?”

He flipped through the sheet music and played a phrase from the middle of the piece twice, changing the pedaling each time. Doha caught the handkerchief that had flown toward him and set it aside as he replied.

“The first one.”

“Right? I thought so too.”

Julian picked up a blunt pencil and marked the sheet music. He was writing over something he had already marked, making the notes nearly illegible.

As Doha sat quietly, Julian’s gaze turned back to him.

“If you’re tired, lie down and sleep there.”

Doha shook his head. Checking his phone, he saw there were no messages. Since it wasn’t practical to drag a pianist with an upcoming concert all the way to the other side of London, it seemed better to find out where the landlord lived and take a bus there instead.

Just as Doha was about to stand up, a noise like furniture being moved came from the piano side. When he looked up, he saw Julian dragging the sofa table to set up a small tripod for his phone.

“Come over and take some pictures,” Julian said, glancing back at Doha.

“Why pictures?” Doha asked.

“I want to post them as practice records.”

Julian untied his headband and the rubber band holding his hair, then ran his sleek fingers through his platinum-blonde hair a few times, leaving it naturally tousled. After adjusting the collar of his training clothes, he turned on the phone camera, adjusted the lens, and mounted it on the tripod.

“Are you still not on social media?” he asked, adjusting the music sheet to show the pencil marks more clearly. Doha shook his head as he glanced at the rectangular screen showing the practice room.

Julian clicked his tongue. “I figured as much when I couldn’t find you. Isn’t that a bit extreme in this day and age? Are you an old man or something?”

“…I’m not an old man.”

“Take a bunch of shots. Make sure they’re focused and look good.”

Doha sighed quietly and stretched out his pinky finger to press the shutter button. The sound of the camera snapping echoed repeatedly. Julian leaned against the piano, propped his chin on his hand, or gave a sidelong smile, posing naturally without any sign of embarrassment.

“Oh, by the way,” Julian said, as if he had just remembered something while checking the photos. “I met Derek the other day, and he mentioned you. A lot of people have asked me about you.”

“…Really?”

“Last year, we had an informal reunion. Everyone was worried that maybe you’d died or something, but I didn’t have any updates to share.”

He casually uploaded a couple of photos to his social media and watched the comments flood in below them in real-time.

“You’ve been completely unreachable since you changed your number.”

Julian’s gaze briefly scanned Doha’s face before he added, “I imagine you were busy.”

“…Yeah, I was.”

Julian’s eyes wandered to Doha’s hand, his expression filled with a disconcerting curiosity so blatant that even Doha could notice.

Snapping out of it, Julian quickly looked away and said, “I’ll keep your number private.”

“Yeah, do that.”

“It would have been nice if you could’ve seen Derek while he was here. He left for Australia yesterday—he came for a short trip with his wife.”

“…Derek’s married?”

“Yeah, and he’s got a kid. He’s running a sandwich café in Australia.”

Julian absentmindedly brushed his fingers across the piano keys as he continued, “Who else were you close with? Ashley? She’s gone back to college for an economics degree. Then there’s… Minyong? Minyeong? That Korean guy went back to Korea. No idea what he’s up to now. Jennifer Huang went to Germany for grad school. Parker… He was on unemployment for a while but now he teaches piano to elementary kids.”

As Julian listed off the fates of their former classmates, Doha was overcome by a complex mix of feelings. It was bittersweet, lingering on the edge of nostalgia.

Doha knew the harsh realities of the world they were in. He never expected everyone to become soloists after graduation. The stage was never big enough for all of them. But hearing how his former classmates had gone down different paths felt strange and unfamiliar. He wanted to ask, almost out of disbelief, if they were all really living like that.

“Yeah, that’s how it is,” Julian shrugged, as if he had no more updates to share. “Not many of us are still serious about piano.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s surreal, isn’t it? Back in school, everyone thought you’d be the most successful. The professors liked you the best. They thought you’d go the farthest after graduation. But life… it’s unpredictable.”

Doha suddenly realized the distinction. Julian saw himself as one of the few who still played piano professionally, while Doha belonged to those who had once dreamt of it but no longer pursued it.

Just as Doha was about to respond, his phone on the sofa buzzed loudly.

“Looks like your landlord,” Julian said.

Doha swallowed his unspoken words and answered the call. He put it on speakerphone, listening to his landlord’s annoyed voice scold him. Using a couple of working fingers to hold the phone to his ear would’ve been more awkward.

When the call ended, Julian was already gathering his coat and getting ready to leave. After covering the piano and putting away the sheet music for his concert, the concert pianist smiled at Doha.

“Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride.”

***

“Should we take a break?” 

Daniel Hunt glanced at the clock and suggested. When Doha nodded, Daniel finally released the fingers he’d been relentlessly pulling at for the last ten minutes and removed the silicone splint-like device from Doha’s hand.

“Take it easy. I think we’re almost done for today.”

Doha accepted the towel Daniel handed him and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His right pinky, now bright red, throbbed painfully. His left leg, the starting point of his rehab routine, was in the same condition.

“Here, drink this.”

Daniel returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and placed it in front of Doha.

“Thank you.”

“You need to rehydrate, so drink plenty.”

Doha took the water without hesitation and drank half the glass through the straw. After nearly four hours of rehab, he was drenched in sweat, even though it wasn’t a strenuous workout. When he got home, even muscles he hadn’t used would ache, and he’d collapse into bed, falling asleep in exhaustion.

As Daniel watched Doha drink through the straw, he sat on the sofa next to him and extended his hand. Almost automatically, Doha placed his hand in Daniel’s.

“Hmm…”

As Daniel moved Doha’s pinky finger around, he said, “It’s looking good. The movement has become smooth without any stiffness. Want to try it yourself?”

Doha stretched the aching finger as much as possible and then curled it back in. It felt like the finger had more strength compared to a few days ago.

“Now try your ring finger… and the other hand… Yes, that’s great.”

Watching closely, Daniel clapped his hands. “Let’s stop here for today.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to do a bit more?”

After inspecting Doha’s fingers again, Daniel shook his head. “Overdoing it isn’t good either. Slow and steady progress is the best approach to rehabilitation.”

“…Alright.”

Reluctantly, Doha began packing the rehab equipment back into its case. After zipping it shut and looking up, he noticed that the doctor was gazing at him.

“I don’t know how to put this… but I’ve been spending a lot of time at the center recently for rehab training, and I haven’t seen anyone as patient as you, Eden.”

“Really?”

Surprised by the unexpected comment, Doha blinked. Daniel stood up, continuing, “I’ve heard that some rehab specialists at Neim centers even wear goggles during treatment because patients sometimes try to poke their eyes out.”

“I wouldn’t be able to poke anyone’s eyes out with my hands anyway… so I should be fine.”

“At this rate, you’ll be able to soon enough,” Daniel said encouragingly as he turned around. He soon returned from the kitchen with a coffee pot and two cups. Doha, seeing a cup placed in front of him, decided to sit back down and removed his arm from the bag’s handle.

After setting down the saucers and pouring the coffee, Daniel asked, “You’re going to Tristan’s house tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, and keep up with your rehab every day. By the time you return, you should see more improvement, and we can adjust the program.”

“I’ll do that.”

Through the wide living room window, the view of the well-maintained garden was visible. Doha carefully lifted his coffee cup with his aching hand. Though it wasn’t a heavy mug, his trembling fingers could still hold it up.

As the doctor leisurely gazed outside, he seemed to remember something and said, “Have you seen this movie by any chance, Eden? It’s quite old now.”

Following his gesture, Doha saw a pile of papers next to the coffee table. He thought maybe there was a DVD among them, but Daniel reached out and picked up the paper on top. It was an old journal article titled

Recognizing the movie’s title, Doha finally replied, “Yes, I didn’t watch it when it was first released, but I saw it early on after I was diagnosed with Neim.”

“I see. It’s a poorly researched movie with a lot of inaccuracies.”

He added, “Though it was commercially successful.” Doha recalled the plot of the movie he had watched on his small laptop screen. It was a typical story of a boy and girl reuniting twenty years after being separated, centered around Neim, which had attracted a lot of attention at the time. When the film was released, there was even a

craze in Korea, where Doha lived. People used permanent markers to write on their bodies, and some couples even got each other’s names tattooed, as if it were a trend.

“In this paper, they mention that at the time of the movie’s release, the center received thousands of calls each day asking how Neim could be contracted. They tried to explain that Neim wasn’t like what was shown in the film, but no one listened.”

“I see.”

“It must seem absurd to you, Eden.”

Daniel’s gaze briefly lingered on Doha’s crooked hand.

The movie didn’t contain any explicit romantic scenes. The plot showed a man and a woman, both of whom had been long ill with twisted and withered limbs, embracing each other, and miraculously, their paralysis was cured in an instant. Their hands and feet healed completely, and they fell in love, as if they had been waiting for each other their whole lives.

Shortly after his first episode and receiving the Neim diagnosis, Doha secretly watched the film, which was at the top of the

at the Neim center. Sitting on his bed with his deteriorating body, he had stared at the laptop screen. It was during a time when he had lost all hope, unable to eat or do anything, while his body deteriorated horribly. Still, when he closed his eyes, he imagined that someone was waiting for him, that they would meet him one day.

“I wanted to believe in that movie too.”

Doha swallowed his unnecessary thoughts and answered calmly. Daniel smiled with a complex expression.

“It’s unfortunate, but the story surrounding something often holds more power than the reality itself.”

Perhaps it’s because everyone’s desires are similar. Salvation in the form of another person, a fitting reward for waiting. Neim was a symbol that even those without it could be captivated by.

Doha was no different. He often said that if he met his Neim partner, he would be able to play the piano again. But even so, that wasn’t all. There were times when he firmly believed that an invisible thread of fate connected him to a nameless person holding the other end. He never doubted that as he followed that thread, someone else was coming toward him, and he often imagined the solid warmth of the moment when all the waiting would end. He longed for the sense of peace that came with it, something he could never exchange for anything else.

It was undeniable that the cruel pain of his withering limbs sometimes felt like proof of fate. Even though he knew the reality of Neim and was living in the wreckage of his life destroyed by its indifferent hand.

Doha was no different from others who watched the movie over and over, wanting to believe in the beautiful, fictional world it presented.

***

They arrived at the village just as the sun was setting. The truck parked in front of Peter’s house wasn’t driven by Jean, but by Hazel. She skillfully navigated the dirt road through the forest and said, “This is usually Jean’s busiest time. He’s finishing up dinner preparations.”

“Would it be better to take a flight that arrives in the morning?”

“There’s no need for that. If Jean can’t come out, I’ll meet you in town. Whatever’s most convenient for you, Eden.”

There was an early flight that would arrive in the morning, but arriving at the estate too early would be an inconvenience. Since he could only meet Tristan in the evening anyway, it made more sense to spend the day traveling and arrive in the evening.

“Have you had dinner?”

“…No, but I’m not that hungry since I ate before leaving.”

“Good, that’s a relief.”

Doha realized the meaning of her words only when they arrived at the mansion. After parking the truck in the garage and getting out, they ran into Jean, who was just stepping out of the kitchen door into the entrance hall.

“Eden!”