Chapter 75 - A Performance I Could Never Give

PLINK, PLING.

A performer in jeans and a baggy hoodie pulled low over their head awkwardly plucked at a battered guitar. Limon folded his arms as he listened.

'Hmm. They're not particularly good.'

After going to so many performances lately, Limon had developed a fairly discerning ear. By his standards, the performer was distinctly lacking—barely past beginner level, and worse even than the guitarist in the indie band he'd just found so unbearable.

'Still, it doesn't grate on me.'

Rather than turn away, Limon stood with his arms folded and deliberately listened. This was the first performer he'd encountered since he began seeking out music who wasn't using a skill.

PLING-PLING, PLINK-PLINK.

'After all the godawful performances I've been hearing lately, even this feels like it's cleansing my ears.'

Limon gave a faint chuckle. The absence of the dissonance caused by music skills was reason enough to listen to this amateur performance.

But he could watch at ease only until the performer opened their mouth.

"Don't look at me—"

(Don't look at me.)

Limon's eyes widened before he knew it.

"I'm not lonely.

I'm not bothered.

Don't look at me like that—"

(I'm not lonely.)

(I'm not hurting.)

(So don't look at me like that.)

A husky voice rang out without microphone or amplifier. Amid all the sounds filling the street, it was too quiet to carry, too rough to attract attention. No one paid it any mind.

*'This is...'

Limon watched the performer everyone else ignored, a strange look on his face.

The singing wasn't good. The song itself sounded clumsily self-composed, and the voice was neither sweet nor beautiful. Like the guitar playing, it was an unpolished song, with more reasons to stop listening than to continue.

But Limon saw the happiness that lit the performer's face the moment they began to sing, as though they had the whole world.

And he heard the beautiful harmony that arose when the previously clumsy playing mingled with that unpolished song.

'I see.'

It was only half a performance at best. Better, certainly, but adding five to five only made ten. Beside the fifty or hundred that first-rate musicians achieved as a matter of course, the harmony still fell short.

Yet in this moment, the song was sinking into Limon's heart as vividly as Julia's playing.

'Is this what she meant by loving music?'

Something beyond technique, artistry, and talent. The power that could make a clumsy song like this comparable to a performance by a violinist of Julia's caliber. The performer's emotions came through all the more purely because they sang as they pleased, heedless of pitch or rhythm.

Feeling his own heart respond, Limon understood. And he smiled bitterly.

'I could never play like that, not even if my life depended on it.'

Now he thought he understood why his violin playing had stopped improving, as though it had struck a wall. He was too old and cunning a swordsman to enjoy playing and bare his feelings with that performer's childlike purity.

You could learn, but you couldn't change. The better you grew at hiding things, the worse you became at revealing them. That was what growing old meant. It was why the old always yearned for and envied youth.

Limon was no exception.

'I'm a little envious.'

His own youth had ended back in the Bronze Age. The pure passion of young people like this stirred more than envy in him; it stirred a dark, ugly jealousy.

'Jealousy... It's been a long time since I felt that, too.'

Since the Iron Age began, he'd watched people solve everything with skills, from swordsmanship to talent, without feeling even envy, much less jealousy. Mocking himself for feeling jealous of a street performer now, Limon kept listening.

"Don't look back—

There's nothing you need to tell me.

There's nothing holding me here.

Look at me and smile like that—"

(Don't look back.)

(You don't need to say anything to me.)

(Nothing is holding me back.)

(So look at me and smile like that.)

The performer sang with nothing but delight, strumming the guitar with abandon. Perhaps the playing was too much of a mess, or perhaps no one else could hear what Limon heard in the song. No one else listened; even passersby who paused for a moment soon lost interest and hurried on.

But the performer didn't stop. As though one listener was enough—or as though playing was simply a joy—they kept strumming and singing, song after song.

'What a waste.'

The deeper the performer's feeling grew, the more their lack of skill stood out, and Limon couldn't help regretting it. What sort of songs could someone who sang like this with such crude technique produce if they took lessons from a professional trainer and filled in what their technique lacked?

'Never thought I'd find myself thinking this way about a song.'

Limon smiled bitterly.

As master of the Sword Tower, he'd taught swordsmanship and often regretted seeing geniuses who had yet to blossom or gifted pupils held back by a wall they couldn't overcome. But this was the first time he'd felt that way about a talent with nothing to do with swordsmanship, fighting, or governing a country.

*'If Julia were here...'

Had she heard this song, she would have tried anything to bring the performer's talent into bloom. After all, she'd left without accepting a penny for lessons, saying she'd taught him nothing, and had even paid all her lodging expenses.

'No. Pointless thought.'

But Limon wasn't Julia. He'd learned to play only because he needed to; he had no reason to meddle like that. Especially now that he knew his own playing would improve no further.

["Huh? Team Leader, you're leaving?"]

"Yeah."

That was why Limon turned away. If he kept listening, he felt he might develop some pointless attachment.

["But they're still playing."]

"Why act surprised? It's hardly the first performance I've walked out on."

["Well, yes, but..."]

Perhaps because this was the only song Limon hadn't complained about, Yu Na-gyeong tilted her head. Limon paid her no mind and started to leave.

"Huh? What the hell? Someone's in our spot."

"Looks like another beginner."

"Ah, shit. Beginners who don't know a damn thing have no talent but all the nerve in the world. Real tough guys when they're out on the street."

"Well, they're not bad for a beginner."

"Not bad, my ass. Their pitch is all over the fucking place."

Limon stopped short. A trio carrying guitars, a bass, and a small amplifier had appeared and were talking loudly in front of the performer.

"Hey, can we talk for a second?"

"Look, we're not trying to pick a fight, okay?"

"Don't pretend you can't hear us. This is our spot, so how about you move along?"

Whatever the trio said, the performer kept singing. As if they couldn't hear them at all, or simply didn't care, they went on strumming the guitar and singing with feeling.

"Tsk. Can't get through to them."

"Hey! I said we need to talk!"

Perhaps the trio were annoyed at being ignored, or perhaps they decided talking any longer would be a waste of time. In the end, they reached for the guitar to take it by force and stop the performance.

Or they tried to.

"Hey, young fellows."

They might have succeeded if two arms hadn't suddenly settled across their shoulders.

"Just checking: are you stealing an innocent citizen's property and assaulting them?"

*'W-what the...'

*'What is this strength? Is he a high-level player?'

The two older members of the trio instinctively tried to shrug off the arms, only to find them as immovable as though they'd been set in concrete. Alarmed, they exchanged glances, then looked at the black-haired man who'd forced his way between them and slung an arm around each of their shoulders: Limon.

"Ahem! Look, mister, I think you've got the wrong idea."

"We only wanted to talk. Yes, talk."

"Hmm. Is interrupting someone's performance and grabbing their instrument what people call talking these days?"

Limon glanced at the two hands reaching for the guitar and smiled chillingly. His gaze was more frightening than any words. The men drew back their hands without thinking and scrambled to justify themselves.

"That's why I'm saying you've got it wrong."

"We just wanted to discuss the performance, that's all. Right, Jeong-jun?"

"R-right."

"Is that so? Then I must have misunderstood."

The trio breathed a sigh of relief at Limon's ready acceptance.

"Glad you understand—"

"What did you want to discuss?"

"Sorry?"

"What was so important that you had to interrupt someone else's performance? Doesn't seem like the sort of thing a fellow musician should do."

His hands tightened.

Limon asked as if genuinely curious, while the two men on either side of him grimaced. Despite his calm tone, his hands were squeezing their shoulders hard enough to hurt a little. If he'd injured them, they could at least have screamed. But the pressure was only about as painful as a rough massage, making it difficult even to resist.

So, against their wishes, they answered his question politely.

"W-well, as you know, this is the Street of Music."

"Right. Anyone can play here, can't they?"

"They can, but so many random people started gathering here that it turned into the Street of Noise."

"So the performers came to an agreement: only one act per designated area."

"... So anyone who wants to perform here has to get a spot assigned by the people who've staked their claim?"

"Yes."

Limon frowned. From long experience, he knew the problems arrangements like this led to.

"One more thing. Do you have to pay for that assignment?"

"Well, not exactly. But when we apply, we each chip in a little according to what we can afford, as a courtesy."

"And the amount decides whether you get a good spot or a bad one?"

"Uh, well. Officially, they say it doesn't."

"And unofficially?"

"..."

The trio quietly averted their eyes. That was answer enough. Limon clicked his tongue. Clearly, the performers' so-called self-governing organization had become a corrupt system run on bribes and favors. In any age, art was one of the easiest businesses to charge for a place to work, much like prostitution.

"How is that a Street of Music?"

"Even if you put it that way..."

"We didn't make the rules..."

What could they say or do if he demanded to know why the rules were so rotten? Their string of excuses only deepened Limon's frown. Seeing his reaction, the trio hurried to explain further.

"It's not like anyone forces you to pay. You can get an out-of-the-way spot like this almost for free, and applying is just a formality."

"Really?"

"Yes. As long as you've got a music skill, they'll usually give you an area."

"If you've got a rare skill or a high level, they might even give you a good spot cheap."

"..."

Unless the place was absolutely packed with performers, you could get a spot cheaply. So the problem was the performer who'd broken the rules, not them.

The trio's argument was self-serving, but under ordinary circumstances it would have been persuasive enough. Except for one detail.

"What if you don't?"

"Sorry?"

"What if you don't have a music skill?"

"Uh..."

Was it because the question was so unexpected? Or because Limon's eyes had narrowed even further? The trio looked flustered, stammered a little, then answered.

"Then they usually get kicked out."

"No one without a music skill would apply to perform in the first place."

"Why would someone without a skill even play? This isn't a place for that kind of joke."

"Exactly. It was those worthless assholes making a racket that got the rules introduced."

"Maybe if they paid an enormous sum... But someone with that kind of money wouldn't pay it to perform on the street."

They answered awkwardly, as though wondering why he'd asked something so obvious. Other onlookers nodded along, and the trio's faces grew confident. But their expressions soon froze.

"So playing without a skill is nothing but noise, and people without skills have no right to play on the street..."

His voice was chillingly cold. His gaze was sharp as a blade. Above all, the twisted smile on his lips, full of utter disgust, made them go rigid.

"That's quite a thing to say."

As the trio swallowed hard, Limon asked in a low voice, "Just to be sure: when you take a shit, do you need a skill for that too, or do you just piss and shit yourselves?"