Fan Casting Schroeder.

In a broken, forgotten corner of the world, Schroeder is a man out of time. His once youthful face now carries the weight of years, the lines etched deep from endless battles—both internal and external. The piano he plays is no longer a symbol of passion or escape, but a weapon, worn and battered, like him. His fingers—once nimble and full of promise—now move with grim determination, striking the keys with a violence that matches the world he’s trapped in. Every note is sharp, every chord heavy with the weight of regret. He’s lost the innocence of childhood, the carefree days now a distant memory, drowned in the cold, unyielding tide of a life that’s never given him a break. He lives in the shadows of the past, the Beethoven symphonies he once revered now sounding more like dirges, echoes of a time when the world wasn’t so damned. His gaze is empty, distant—he’s seen too much, endured too much. The world doesn’t care about him anymore, not really. His heart is worn thin, broken by betrayal and the cruel indifference of those who never understood the cost of his silence.