WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 74: Listen
──────
Dun, da-dun.
A sound could be heard.
It was a performance.
A beautiful melody produced by an instrument made by Jeongsin and carefully tuned by a tuner.
The audience was intoxicated by the sound, so beautiful it made them feel ecstatic just listening to it. Tears streamed down their moved faces, yet they even held their breath in case they disturbed the performance.
As if intoxicated by the audience’s reaction,
the performer poured even more passion into the music.
The audience, drunk on that performance, fell into even deeper emotion.
It was an endless spiral. Emotion gave birth to emotion, etching each side more deeply into the other’s heart in a never-ending virtuous cycle.
It was a performance so beautiful that even an Iron Man without blood or tears could not, in the end, feel moved.
“Waaaaah!”
Clap clap clap clap clap!
The moment it finally came to an end,
a thunderous cheer and deafening applause burst from the audience.
Their faces flushed with excitement and emotion, the crowd leaped to their feet and cheered as though they could go on for hours. The performer answered them with a smile.
It was a scene straight out of a painting.
The ideal ending to a concert that every performer dreamed of, one warm enough to touch the hearts of all who watched.
That was how it looked, at least, until one man who had been watching with his arms folded and a cold expression opened his mouth.
“...
I can’t believe I just listened to such a fucking awful performance.”
* * *
[Boss, you’re an idiot, right?]
Smack!
[Squawk!]
“Want to get hit?”
[Ah, shit! At least warn me before you hit me!]
Maybe her forehead had grown tough from being hit so often, as if she had mastered some Diamond-Indestructible style.
Or perhaps she was so worked up that she had forgotten the pain.
The bluebird, Yoo Na-gyeong, had barely fallen flat on top of Rimon’s head after getting flicked before she sprang back up and flapped her wings in protest.
[Besides, it’s true that you acted like an idiot! Who hears a performance and immediately starts tearing it apart like that?]
“Then what are all the critics in the world?”
[They’re experts!]
“As far as I know, critics don’t need qualifications.”
[Well, that’s true, but...]
“Besides, it seems strange to say someone needs qualifications just to speak honestly about what they felt.”
[Why do you only make logical counterarguments at times like this, when you usually do whatever you want?!]
“Because a logical counterargument annoys you more than just flicking your forehead.”
[That was the only reason?!?!]
Na-gyeong fumed for a moment after realizing she had become the target of his teasing.
Then she said sulkily,
[Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the bare minimum of decency a person should have.]
“There was a philosopher I once knew who claimed that all bards were harmful and should be beaten up and driven out. He said that was proper decency.”
[What kind of lunatic says something like that?!]
“Plato.”
[...]
[That Plato? The one said to be one of the greatest shamans in history?]
“Yeah. He really could talk. He got autonomy for the former Greek territories through rhetoric alone, even back in the Bronze Age.”
[That’s why the Free City Alliance is still called Europe outside Europe...
No, that’s not the point! Using a great historical figure as a shield is cowardly!]
“By that logic, my very existence is cowardly.”
[Come on, that’s not true. You’re not a great historical figure, Boss. You’re a mad dog.]
Smack!
[Ow! Stop hitting me on the head! I’m already worried enough about having a birdbrain. What if I really get dumber?]
“If you’re that worried about your brain cells, why don’t you start by breaking the habit of speaking without using them?”
[Do you think a habit that didn’t change even after I died will change just because I try?]
“What a thing to be proud of.”
Rimon clicked his tongue at the bluebird, who stuck out her belly and spoke with pride.
But Na-gyeong was shameless enough that even under his sharp stare, she did not care.
She only asked bluntly,
[So where are you planning to go this time?]
“Who knows?”
After scratching his cheek for a moment, Rimon pulled out his notepad and flipped through it. Looking over the places he had marked in advance, he spoke.
“There seems to be a classical performance at the cultural center in an hour.”
[Boss, you just left a classical performance after making rude comments and getting some truly vicious looks.]
“Hmm. Then what about the musical at that theater? Its online reviews are pretty good.”
[Yesterday, you said you would never trust the idiots online again.]
“Then this traditional folk music festival...”
[Three days ago, you got thrown out of an event after ranting that people who did not even understand tradition were just tormenting instruments.]
“...
Na-gyeong, do you have some complaint against me?”
Rimon frowned at Yoo Na-gyeong, who snapped back at everything he said.
She, on the other hand, looked at him as though he were absurd.
[That’s what I want to ask you.]
“Why would you?”
[Why? You said that ridiculous thing about trying to love performing, but you’ve spent the past few weeks looking dissatisfied at every concert we’ve gone to.]
That was true.
Rimon had not begun this uncharacteristic tour of performances because he had too much time on his hands.
It was entirely part of his training, an effort to improve his violin performance by following Julia’s advice.
“It isn’t entirely ridiculous. It is difficult to become good at something you do not like.”
[...]
[Coming from you, Boss, even something that obvious somehow becomes completely unconvincing.]
Na-gyeong was at a loss for words.
Rimon had never cared much about music to begin with.
He had first held an instrument only a few months ago, yet his performance had improved at a terrifying pace.
To Na-gyeong, who knew that process better than anyone, his words sounded more ridiculous than an exam-taker claiming they had earned a perfect score just by reading textbooks.
“I am simply exceptionally talented.”
[Wow, that’s incredibly obnoxious. It’s even more obnoxious because I can’t deny it.]
“It is a fact.”
Na-gyeong could not deny it.
Instead, she planted both wings on her hips and scolded him bluntly.
[So what? Is your talent so absurdly great that every other performance sounds terrible to you?]
“Who knows? I would rather it were that simple.”
[What does that mean?]
“I would have to hear a performance at least once before deciding whether it was terrible or not.”
[...]
[Then what was that performance you listened to so diligently earlier before leaving such a harsh review?]
“I would like to know that myself.”
[...???]
Whether or not Yoo Na-gyeong had question marks floating over her head,
Rimon kept flipping through his notepad. Then he narrowed his eyes at one particular entry.
“Hmm, an indie band...”
[Now you’re going to listen to band music too?]
“I hear these guys make whatever music they damn well please, like wandering martial artists. Then they should have some bite.”
[I’m pretty sure you’re the only oddball in the world who expects an indie band to have the ferocity of wandering martial artists...]
Having chosen his next destination, Rimon headed for the venue where the indie band’s performance was scheduled.
Undae Music Street.
It was a place where all kinds of street performers usually gathered, from indie bands and music students to rappers and aspiring singers.
Seeing the crowd waiting around the stage in the middle of the street, Rimon looked somewhat expectant.
But the moment he saw the indie band step onto the stage,
Rimon’s face twisted into a deep scowl.
“...
I was an idiot for expecting anything.”
[What? Why?]
“I have a feeling this will be another flop.”
[They haven’t even started yet!]
“There are things you can tell at a glance.”
Rimon let out a sigh.
His eyes, black instead of their usual gold, narrowed as he looked at the band members.
It was not because of their grotesque appearances, which at first glance made them look like chimeras created by a black mage.
Vines tangled like veins around the guitarist’s arms, a bat’s head protruded like a tumor from the vocalist’s throat, and six insect legs grew from behind the drummer’s back.
He could already guess what sort of performance they would give, based on his experiences so far.
And unfortunately, Rimon’s prediction proved right once again.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”
The insect legs beat the drums alongside the drummer’s sticks.
The vines plucked the guitar alongside the guitarist’s fingers.
High notes rang from the bat’s mouth rather than the vocalist’s throat.
The moment the performance began, Rimon saw the Constellations contracted to them moving even more actively than the performers themselves, and he sighed.
“Fuck, if you’re going to use Skills to perform, don’t go around calling yourselves an indie band.”
Yoo Na-gyeong, perched atop Rimon’s head, replied,
[Come on, that’s impossible. Who makes music without Skills these days?]
“Julia doesn’t use that kind of thing.”
[That’s why Julia is called the Witch of the Violin. She’s a genius.]
“Even so, I’ve gone to dozens of performances. How has there not been a single bastard who doesn’t use Skills?”
Rimon was furious.
That was exactly why he had looked dissatisfied throughout his recent visits to performances.
[What’s wrong with using Skills?]
“What? Are you taking their side just because you were supposedly a Player when you were alive?”
[I’m not taking sides. I just don’t understand. Whether they use Skills or not, a good performance is still a good performance, right?]
“...
A good performance.”
Rimon furrowed his brow at Yoo Na-gyeong’s question, which seemed to say she could not understand it at all.
Then, with the black fading from his eyes and their original gold returning, he looked toward the stage again.
Perhaps because he had settled the Constellation’s power, the band members now looked normal, and the music came through more clearly. It was certainly not bad.
If their performance had been a mess, people would not have gathered in such numbers or cheered so enthusiastically.
“Yes, normally, that might be considered a good performance.”
Rimon nodded slowly.
Then he continued quietly.
“But I didn’t come here because I wanted to learn to like that kind of performance.”
People called him behind the times, but Rimon did not deny the usefulness of Skills.
No, if he could at least hear their music properly, he might have found it somewhat satisfying.
But after gaining the ability to perceive Constellations, having his ears opened by the Pitch-Black Violin, and continuing Julia’s lessons, Rimon’s senses had become different from those of ordinary people.
The oddly clumsy human performance.
The Constellation Skills forcibly covering it up.
The difference between those overlapping sounds created a dissonance only he could feel, and it disgusted him.
[Well... if that’s how you feel, Boss, there’s nothing to be done. Let’s go somewhere else.]
“Fine. Since it’s come to this, next time I’ll research and seek out only concerts by performers who don’t use Skills at all.”
Perhaps she sensed that Rimon was genuinely irritated.
No longer picking at his words, Yoo Na-gyeong readily nodded. With her perched on his head, Rimon left Music Street.
Or rather, he was about to.
Ding.
“...?”
Music Street was noisy with the indie band’s performance and the crowd’s cheers.
He was about to leave when he heard a strange sound from one corner of it.
[Boss? Where are you suddenly going?]
Ding, ding-ding.
Even as Yoo Na-gyeong watched Rimon suddenly turn around in confusion, he paid her no mind and followed the sound.
Then he saw it.
In a secluded corner of Music Street.
A place without a stage, an amplifier, or even a proper chair.
A lone musician sat on the edge of a flower bed, playing a guitar without Skills.
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