Devil’s Music

Geon rushed to the school library and printed out the score of Asturias as performed by Professor Sharon Isbin.

Although Geon didn't doubt Professor Sharon's interpretation skills, he printed the original composition by Isaac Manuel Francisco Albéniz to compare. Returning to Dante Park, Geon settled on the grass, spreading out the score sheets.

It was still morning, the sun blazing; though slightly chilly, it was bearable. He preferred the open outdoor space over the cramped solitude of a practice room. Geon first took out Professor Sharon's score, allowing the sunlight to hit it. Something caught his eye.

"There's an empty space here."

Quickly retrieving Albéniz's score from his guitar bag, Geon held it up to the sunlight. Every note in Albéniz's score was filled with color, unlike Professor Sharon's. Comparing the two, Geon furrowed his brow.

"The notes on the second page here are in sky blue. What could that mean?"

Lost in thought, Geon held Albéniz's score in his hand.

No matter how much he pondered, the answer eluded him. So, he shifted his focus from the score to the people behind it.

"Albéniz, a Spanish composer; Professor Sharon, from St. Louis, USA. Albéniz, a pianist and composer, while Professor Sharon is a guitarist. Could it be the difference in expression between guitar and piano that caused this?"

Chin in hand, lost in thought, Geon suddenly pulled out his smartphone and searched for 'Asturias.' After a moment of furrowed brows, he leaped up with a cheer.

"Yes! This is it!"

Startling those sitting around with his sudden movement, Geon, noticing the attention, sheepishly smiled, gestured apologetically, and sat back down.

"Asturias is the name of a region in Spain. This song by Albéniz, expressing the beauty of Asturias, was a feeling Professor Sharon, being American, couldn't capture emotionally, especially the 'longing.'"

Geon penned 'longing' next to the sky-blue parts in Albéniz's score. He felt elated for conquering one mountain but knew another awaited.

"I've solved the sky-blue, but why are there empty-colored notes in Professor Sharon's score? Although they match Albéniz's notes on paper..."

Geon picked up his pen. Despite drawing sharp or flat signs near the blank spaces in Sharon's score, nothing changed. Perplexed, he tried drawing flats near another set of empty notes.

Suddenly, every note within the section with drawn flats regained color. Watching the once slowly brightening notes turning into perfect hues, Geon smiled.

"This is it. The subtle difference in notes when expressed on the piano versus the guitar!"

Excited, Geon added flats or sharps wherever there were gaps. Soon, Sharon's score was filled with vibrant colors in every gap. He held up the completed score, smiling.

As he laughed holding the score up, he felt the surroundings dimming. Startled by the quick passage of time, he glanced around, hearing murmurs nearby. Turning to his right, many girls were sitting on the grass, quietly watching him.

Surprised, Geon asked, "Eh? W-what's happening?"

A brown-haired girl raised her hand, pointing at her wristwatch. "It's 8:40! We came to hear you sing!"

Counting roughly, over fifty girls had gathered today. Geon, feeling embarrassed, brushed his hand on his thigh, apologizing, "Oh, I didn't know you were coming. I was caught up with homework. I'm sorry."

As he made a slight bow, screams erupted. "No, it's okay! You looked so focused!" "Exactly! Hurray!" "You're such a handsome guy!"

Feeling awkward, scratching the back of his head, Geon took out his guitar. Trying to decide on a song, he noticed the score lying on the ground. He reached for it, read through it slowly, and then grinned at the girls.

Seeing his smile, the girls swooned again. "Ahh! He smiled at me!" "No, no, he looked at me!"

"What, you brat! You have Robin, don't you? Sing to Robin!"

Amidst the chaos, Geon laughed and lifted the score. "Today, I'll play the guitar piece I need to practice. Is that okay?"

The girls exchanged opinions. Some were meeting for the first time, yet their love for fandom erased boundaries, chatting like old friends. After a while, the brown-haired girl at the front raised her hand again.

"Playing is charming enough, but we want to hear a song, too. Can you sing for us?"

Geon pondered. 'I don't have time to practice... But performing here might gauge their reaction... What should I do?'

Lost in thought, a girl with blonde hair in the front row raised her hand. Geon gestured as if to ask her to speak, and she said, "How about adding lyrics on the spot to your performance? You'll play, and we'll get to hear a song. Everyone will be happy."

Other girls nodded in agreement, but soon, it became noisy again.

"Yeah, that's a great idea!"

"What? You know nothing about music! How do you suddenly create lyrics?"

"Why? Just add words to the existing tune!"

"Ugh, look at these ignorant kids, thinking music is so easy!"

Ignoring the noise, Geon began jotting something down on the score. As he focused, the girls, previously chatty, fell silent, eyes fixed on him.

After about ten minutes, Geon lifted his head. The girls gazed at him with twinkling eyes. With a confident smile, he spoke while holding the score.

"Thank you for the great suggestions. I really appreciate breaking the stereotype that lyrics wouldn't fit the performance piece. I'm not sure how it'll turn out, but I've tried composing a melody with lyrics for now. It might be lacking since it was done on the spot. Still, you'll listen, won't you?"

The girls cheered again, full of excitement.

"Of course! Let us hear it quickly!"

"Wow, seriously? Did you create it right here?"

"What do we do? He's a genius!"

This time, a freckled girl with red hair sitting at the far left of the front row raised her hand. When Geon gestured to her, she hesitantly spoke, fidgeting with her hands.

"Uhm, did you... personally create the lyrics just now?"

The girls looked curious, all turning their attention to Geon. He shook his head, saying, "Ah, no, writing lyrics isn't that easy. I found a suitable poem for the piece I'm performing, then added a melody to it."

Nodding in understanding, the girls began asking questions.

"What poem is it? We also like poems!"

"Yes, tell us, what's the poem?"

"Mom, I think he really knows poetry well! Did you just write it without even searching?"

Geon smiled as he brought out his guitar.

"Do you know a poet named Federico García Lorca?"

The girls collectively shook their heads, indicating their lack of knowledge. Geon chuckled, explaining, "He was a poet and playwright from Spain. The piece I'll perform matches with a composition by Isaac Manuel Albéniz, a Spanish national composer."

The girls nodded along, their eyes sparkling. Geon glanced at them and, lifting the guitar onto his thigh, continued, "The piece is titled 'Asturias,' inspired by the Asturias region in Spain."

At Geon's fingertips, a fast yet lyrical melody characteristic of Spanish music emerged. Even before the first 16 measures ended, the girls, without realizing, closed their eyes, immersed in the melody. People strolling in Dante Park halted, drawn by the distant yet incredibly beautiful tune.

The beautiful guitar melody seemed to paint an idyllic landscape, evoking a sense of longing. Those listening found themselves inadvertently recalling their homelands, naturally thinking of their parents and grandparents there.

Everyone has memories of their childhood.

We either become happy or unhappy

When suddenly reminded of those childhood memories.

For some, their hometown is a longing, a desire to return,

While for others, even thinking about it becomes painful.

But at this moment,

For everyone listening to the guitar melody,

A vision of an almost utopian homeland was depicted.

And as Geon reached the high notes with his guitar,

All the girls listening with closed eyes snapped them open. Around Dante Park, people who had been attentive to the guitar music dropped their coffee cups or phones.

Geon sang with a soprano-like high pitch with his eyes closed.

Some souls possess blue stars,

Mornings inserted into the fabric of time,

And the pure corners with dreams and nostalgia's ancient echoes.

Other souls are tormented by the specters of passion,

Fruit eaten by bugs, shadows flowing

Echoes of distant tambourine sounds,

Memories without sorrow,

Fragments of kisses.

My soul has long been ripening,

Withering as an enigma, darkly.

Young stones eroded by hallucinations

Fall onto the surface of my thoughts.

Every stone speaks,

God is far away.

Even after the song ended, the performance continued. Although only about fifty girls remained in the small concert space within Dante Park, everyone on the paths, among the trees, walking, or lying down, was engrossed in the music.

As the long performance concluded, a middle-aged man who had paused on a path to listen glanced at the sky before wiping his eyes. He then retrieved his phone from his suit pocket and made a call.

"Hello? Mom? It's me, Paul. It's been so long since I called, huh? Haha, I suddenly missed you so much. Is Dad doing well?"

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