Devil’s Music - Chapter 60: Amdusias's eye

Geon sat on his bed, legs crossed, staring blankly at a music score laid out on the blanket.

The score seemed randomly sourced from the internet, filled with multicolored notes, possibly from a famous piece.

Resting his left arm on his knee, Geon propped his chin on his hand, intensely examining the score.

“Even after waking up, it’s still the same. I still see colors in the notes.”

He picked up the score, holding it against the incoming light from the window.

“It’s strange. I don’t see this on the PC screen. Does color only show on printed or handwritten scores?”

Geon took a pen from the desk drawer and started jotting down words on the score.

“Sergei Rachmaninoff taught seven emotions.”

His notes appeared in a corner of the score.

Blue: Melancholy

Red: Passion or anger

Green: Jealousy

Black: Darkness, fire

White: Warmth

Pink: Healthiness

Gray: Unclear confusion

Geon compared the emotions he recalled based on colors to the emotions on the score.

“This score is mostly filled with white notes. Hence, the title might be ‘lava.'”

For over 30 minutes, Geon scrutinized the score, comparing it to his emotions, his expression growing serious.

“Uh-oh! It’s my first class today!”

Rushing to his wardrobe, he found papers stuck inside the door. Smiling at the prints, he read the Korean text at the top.

“Geon! I numbered the clothes in the boxes, so follow the pictures below. Study hard, don’t forget your sister! From Yeonju.”

Quickly changing into the numbered clothes, Geon checked the shoes as per the print and dashed out, only to return immediately.

“Oh no! My guitar!”

Despite not yet adapting to Western-style homes, he hastily wore shoes and rushed to grab one of the three guitar cases, then dashed out again.

His house was just two blocks away from school, and he arrived within five minutes, sprinting at full speed.

Entering the school’s main gate in a hurry, he saw dozens of students in the lobby. Navigating through them, he sprinted upstairs to the second-floor studio.

Opening a dark brown sliding door halfway down the wooden interior, he found about twenty students seated in a classroom. Despite the classroom’s tiered design, ensuring visibility from every seat, everyone seemed awkwardly quiet on this first day.

Noticing students with various hair colors, Geon realized Juilliard truly gathered international musical prodigies.

Soon, a middle-aged yet attractive brunette entered, standing at the podium. Smiling at the students, she introduced herself through the microphone.

“Welcome, new students. I’m Sharon Isbin, here to join you in your guitar studies.”

Overwhelmed by the chance to learn from a respected guitarist, Geon clapped without realizing, prompting others to follow suit. Sharon chuckled and raised her hand, stopping the applause.

“Guitar students will have one-hour private lessons with respective professors weekly. Additionally, there will be studio classes on some Saturdays, where I’ll play alongside students.”

Sharon moved to the center, holding the microphone off the stand.

“As part of your curriculum, you’ll have to attend Music Theory and Ear Training. Other classes like Chamber Music and Orchestra are subject to faculty decisions.”

Pointing to a platinum blonde student in the front row, she asked, “You, the platinum-haired girl. What’s your name?”

Looking slightly surprised, the student replied, “Vladimirovna. Professor Sharon.”

Chuckling, Sharon nodded, “Vladimirovna. Seems like you’re from Russia. Do you think the schedule is too lenient? Not many mandatory classes and just an hour of private lessons?”

Sharon finished her question, looking at the nodding student with a twinkle in her eye.

“Yes, however, everyone. The moment you think you have plenty of time, you’ll fall behind. Musicians always fight against time. The sweat you shed won’t betray you. Even if you split and fragment the remaining time for practice, it won’t be enough. So, make sure not to waste your practice time.”

Sharon spoke, observing the slightly tense students around her.

“Today, I plan to just give a simple mission for our first session. There won’t be any complaints about having a mission from day one, right?”

As Sharon lifted the remote control placed on the lectern and manipulated it, lights illuminated the projection screen behind the lectern, displaying a PPT screen with bold letters saying ‘First Mission.’

Raising the remote control high, Sharon addressed the students, “This is the first mission I’m giving to all of you at Juilliard.”

Manipulating the remote, the screen changed, displaying a black-and-white photo of a man.

Placing the remote down, Sharon turned towards the students, speaking while facing away from them, “The first mission is to ‘play Isaac Manuel Francisco Albéniz.'”

As the students murmured in surprise, Sharon stepped forward, addressing them, “Most of you are familiar with him, right? The eminent Spanish pianist and composer. You have to choose one of Albéniz’s pieces for your mission.”

“But if it were merely playing Albéniz’s piece, it would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

As the students looked puzzled, Sharon chuckled and adjusted the remote.

“To spice up the mission, I’ve added one condition. Take a look.”

The word ‘Arrangement’ appeared on the screen.

Looking at the bewildered students, Sharon exclaimed, “Even though you’re guitar majors, try any instrument. Any style of play, any additional instrument of your choice while arranging the piece you select. That’s the first mission I’m assigning!”

The sudden announcement left the students flustered. Then, a male student sitting near the window raised his hand. Smiling, Sharon gestured toward him.

“Yes, you there. Go ahead.”

A blond-haired male student, combing his hair to the left, cautiously stood and spoke, “Professor, we are guitar majors. It’s a bit bewildering to have such a mission when we’re not composition majors. It might be beneficial for us, but could you provide a more detailed explanation?”

After signaling the student to sit with a nod, Sharon took the microphone again.

“Everyone, Juilliard’s education isn’t limited to just performance. You already know there are humanities courses, right?”

As the students nodded, Sharon continued, “The artists we aim to become here are ‘thinking artists,’ ‘suffering artists,’ and ‘creative performers.'”

With a smirk, Sharon surveyed the students, “Think for yourselves. How should you proceed? Alright, once more for the last time. You have a week. Choose one of Albéniz’s pieces and arrange it. Feel free to add other instruments during the arrangement, but the guitar must be played. Understood?”

With that question hanging, Sharon waved goodbye without waiting for the students’ responses and left the classroom. The students, still unfamiliar with each other, couldn’t even grumble. With strained faces, they picked up their belongings and left the classroom one by one.

Geon checked the schedule in his small notebook. “Looks like this is it for today, the first day. Other friends seem to be heading to the practice room already. Have I already decided on a piece in my mind?”

After returning the notebook to his bag and slinging his guitar, Geon left the classroom.

With 84 practice rooms available 24/7 at Juilliard, it was rare not to find a vacant spot. Geon noticed several empty rooms scattered around and nodded to himself.

“Do I really need to choose the piece in a practice room? It might be better to get some fresh air at nearby Dante Park. Oh, visiting Logan’s shop to grab a sandwich and having a picnic there sounds lovely, hehe.”

Geon bought two avocado sandwiches from Logan’s shop, a place he frequented, and settled on the grass at Dante Park. Though it was busy during the day, few people were sitting on the grass. Most were bustling along the paths in front of the park.

Stretching his legs and gazing at the sky, Geon saw many faces in the clouds. Mom, Dad, Shihwa, Yeongseok, Byungjoon, Yeonju, Sangmi, Lin. As he thought of the people dear to him, a smile unknowingly spread across his face.

In the midst of recalling joyful memories, Geon remembered what Chunho had said long ago during their days at Manjedo.

“The best song is one filled with sincerity.”

Thinking about a piece where he could play with genuine feelings, Geon slapped his knee and exclaimed, “Right, the piece Sharon Isbin played when I first heard it! That piece is by Albéniz, right?”

Smiling, he reached back, supporting himself with his hands, and looked up at the sky.

“The piece I’ll perform is ‘Asturias.’ And I’ll use the sheet music played by Professor Sharon Isbin.”

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