Scales From My Eyes
"Uh... by any chance, is that lady sitting over there the person I think she is?"
"Eh?"
"Really?"
"That Super Guitarist... the one who played?"
The words drifted down from the stage, laced with clear embarrassment and a slight stutter. At the mention, the heads of the seated audience members whipped around in unison. And right where Asano's gaze was fixed, a remarkably beautiful young woman sat with an incredibly troubled expression on her face.
"Uh... yes."
At her reply, a murmur rippled through the crowd once more. On stage, Asano scratched his head, looking utterly bewildered. He had mentioned wanting to meet her, but he certainly hadn't expected it to happen like this. To suddenly cross paths in a place like this...
But I really do want to ask her how on earth she plays the guitar like that.
Asano recalled what he had searched on the internet a few days ago. This girl had only been learning the guitar for a mere four years. And shortly after picking up the instrument, she had worked as a session guitarist recognized by all the top professionals in Korea, made her major debut, and conquered the Korean band market. That was her track record.
If a God of Guitar existed and bestowed blessings upon a select few humans, Asano had always believed—at least until now—that he was one of those blessed individuals. It was only natural. His guitar skills were praised by everyone around him. His inspiration was a boundless spring. His focus and curiosity never waned, even as he aged. His physical constitution was perfectly suited for continuing to learn and play the guitar.
But even his own track record, even his own talent... It was an undeniable fact that they paled in comparison to the girl standing before him.
Of course, if one were to compare what they currently possessed, he would hold the upper hand. But looking toward the future...
"Uh, would you mind coming up to the stage?"
Asano's invitation was born of a sudden, impulsive urge. Hearing those words, Suyun felt a headache coming on. She knew exactly how this would go. If she went up there, he'd make her talk, make her play, and pelt her with questions...
But soon, Suyun changed her mind. Sure, it's a pain, but this guy is clearly taking time out of his busy schedule to host a free seminar. Compared to that, going up and saying a few words doesn't seem like such a big deal. And I can promote our band too...
Muttering to herself, Suyun slung her gig bag over her shoulder and walked up to the stage.
As Suyun appeared, a collective "Ooooh~" rose from the audience. Hearing a sudden burst of clapping, she turned her head and saw her bandmates. They were grinning and clapping with sheer, mischievous delight—a truly obnoxious sight.
"Since you're up here, could you please introduce yourself?"
"Yes. Hello. I'm from Korea. I am Ha Suyun of Group Sound."
This time, it wasn't just her bandmates; the entire audience erupted into applause. Suyun bowed politely in response and looked at Asano. Meeting her gaze, Asano raised an eyebrow slightly and continued.
"Are you indeed the person who played Acid Rain on Super Guitarist recently?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Then, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions..."
"Ah, yes."
Thus began an impromptu interview. Suyun smoothly answered the questions Asano threw her way. For instance...
"I heard that you've only been playing the guitar for four years. Is that true?"
"Yes, that's correct."
The reaction from the audience below the stage was incredibly diverse—and intense. The people sitting here weren't ordinary folks without any musical knowledge. They were people who had, to some extent, stepped into the professional realm. And by their standards, Suyun was an utterly absurd existence. The murmurs of admiration, shock, and disbelief that rippled through the crowd were only natural.
"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"
"I'm... twenty. No, nineteen by Japanese age. I graduated from high school this year."
"So you started learning the guitar in your first year of high school?"
"Well... yes, I suppose so."
"And you hadn't played any other instruments before that?"
"No, none."
The succession of shocking answers was more than enough to crush the spirits of several people in the room. Was this what true talent looked like? Reaching such heights in just four years... was this the power of a 'real' genius?
"Then, who did you learn the guitar from? Or are you self-taught?"
With the next question, the audience silently prayed that Suyun would deny being self-taught. If she had reached this level entirely on her own, they felt they would truly hit an insurmountable wall of despair. Fortunately, the answer that came from Suyun's mouth was closer to a denial.
"No. I had someone who taught me. A master."
"A master? Not a lesson teacher, but a master?"
Hearing such an archaic word come from the mouth of a young woman, Asano asked for clarification. He wondered if she, as a Korean whose Japanese might not be perfect, had simply mistaken the word. But Suyun's answer remained 'master.'
"Yes. I have a master. It is a story from back when I didn't know how to play the guitar..."
With that, Suyun began to spin a tale in her slightly broken Japanese. It was a dramatic story of a meeting from several years ago between a delinquent, drunken high school girl and a guitarist in the twilight of his life.
When the story—which was both long and short—came to an end, the crowd, which had grown even larger than when she started, made their presence known through sniffles and nose-blowing. It was just that kind of story—sad, tender, and deeply moving.
"And that is how I came to learn the guitar. I have been playing ever since."
"Thank you for sharing. It must have been a difficult story to bring up..."
"Not at all. I have already spoken about it on a broadcast in Korea."
"Ah, is that so? I suppose it's a well-known story over there, then."
Though the mystique had faded slightly, Asano still felt he had heard a truly touching tale. It was a rare story in this day and age. Moreover, the story itself was moving, but the fact that its culmination was the birth of a guitarist who could hardly be described as anything less than a genius made it even more profound.
"We've talked for quite a bit. At any rate, could we hear you play? Acid Rain is fine, or any other song is great."
After a dry cough to clear the heavy atmosphere, Asano made his request. Suyun gave a small nod and plugged her cable into the amplifier. Then, she began to ring the guitar strings.
The song that began to flow from Suyun's hands was certainly not the technical, shredding piece they might have expected. Yet, it was a masterpiece that no one could deny. Gary Moore's Still Got the Blues.
Skipping the entire first half, she sang only the lyrics of the latter half where the solo is introduced, her voice ringing out clear and strong. Then, Suyun unleashed her guitar playing without restraint.
It was a bluesy performance, similar to what she had shown on Super Guitarist, but what was unfolding on this stage... It was something that could not be dismissed as mere guitar playing. It was a form of raw emotion itself. An unbridled sorrow raced across the stage, roaring. The high notes, wild enough to tear the sky apart, soared endlessly, only to be reined in by the leash of her pick. Suyun's fingers, dancing across the six strings, did not stop their long, short wailing for even a single second.
"That was a wonderful performance. Since I had only heard it through broadcasts, I thought there might have been some editing involved, but that wasn't the case at all. If anything, the broadcast seemed to dull the brilliance of your playing..."
After the song that echoed across the stage concluded with a display of brilliant technique, the audience members began to process her performance in their own ways—whispering to one another, tapping on their phone screens, or quietly reflecting in silence. It was Asano's voice that broke the gentle silence lingering near the stage.
"Thank you."
Suyun simply replied to Asano's praise. She had heard it so many times before that it no longer felt novel. Asano twitched an eyebrow slightly, but he continued casually.
"Well, I personally have a few things I'd like to ask, and I'm sure the people here would like to ask some questions as well. Would that be alright?"
"Yes, that's fine."
The topics that followed were mostly related to the guitar. For example, her tone-making methods, or guitar theory. Suyun did her best to share what she knew, covering not only theoretical aspects but also practical ones.
"The important part is how you eliminate bad habits in your hands. Of course, there might be new techniques or unique playing styles born from an individual's habits... but for technical playing, optimization is ultimately more important than anything else. It would be fine if you had enough speed to bypass optimization, but that is actually quite difficult."
"As for 'feeling' in guitar... in my personal opinion, it is ultimately something that can be built through practice. How do you play a single note? With what touch? At what strength? On what beat? The sound changes every time the approach changes. People born with natural feeling can probably sense this instinctively. They know when to touch, how to touch, and how to sustain it to produce a good sound."
"But it doesn't matter if you aren't born with that talent. That, too, is an area that can be acquired through practice. Think of it like darts. There might be a natural talent to hit a triple, but in the end, you just need to work hard so you can hit it. Practice is the answer."
Barely twenty years old, nineteen by international standards. She had only been playing the guitar for four years. Despite this, the words coming out of Suyun's mouth sounded like those of someone who had studied the instrument for forty years, not four.
"But not everything can be achieved through practice. Everyone has different strengths and weaknesses, and there are things called limits. For example, what if someone's fingers are exceptionally short? Or what if they have a job that leaves them absolutely no time to practice? Things like that..."
"I believe those are all excuses."
This sentiment reached its peak toward the end of the session. Suyun's response to a question from the audience was something that could never be considered the mindset of 'kids these days.' It was a pure philosophy of mental fortitude and raw grit.
"No time to practice? Then practice with more focus. Short fingers? Then play harder. Tony Iommi, a left-handed guitarist. He lost the tips of two fingers on his right hand. But he still did Black Sabbath. Those are all excuses."
"No, but limits..."
"Limits? Who decides those? You do, in your own mind. Ten hours wasn't enough? Then do eleven hours. Twelve hours. That is how you do it. That is how I did it. Why can't you? You all have arms and legs. You have all five fingers. You have eyes, and you have a brain. Failing to do it is what's strange."
As she answered the audience's questions, Suyun kept shaking her head. Why did everyone have such weak mindsets? If music were that easy, the great musicians would never have received such praise. Music is something that a lifetime is not enough to master; how could they approach it with such a casual attitude?
"You do not practice. You take breaks from practice. Is that right?"
The words that caught Suyun's attention came from Asano Shohei, who was standing beside her. It was a phrasing that seemed to read her very mind.
"Exactly. Practice is taking a break. Dedicate your life to the guitar. Life is too short to do anything else. Far too short."
Hearing those words, Asano shuddered. Because it was true. It was so incredibly true.
Lately, he had grown a bit lax. He had wondered if he had finally reached his limit. If so, wasn't it time to foster the next generation? Wasn't it time to try a different path? With those thoughts, he had been taking vacations he never used to take, hosting seminars, and living a somewhat relaxed life.
Yet this child, despite reaching such a level of skill in a mere four years, was still whipping herself forward. She was constantly practicing and practicing, striving to grow. And what was he doing? Discussing limits with his meager skills, wallowing in complacency...
"It feels as though scales have fallen from my eyes. I have truly received a great lesson today. Thank you."
"...? Ah, yes. You're welcome."
Asano looked at Suyun and bowed deeply. While the audience below gasped in surprise, Suyun simply nodded, wondering, What is wrong with this guy?
Then, a sudden burst of applause erupted from the crowd. Suyun herself would likely never realize it, but with those words, she had just cast a veteran guitarist, who had been enjoying his peaceful golden years, straight into the infinite hell of endless practice.
Of course, if Suyun had realized it, she would have replied:
"It's not hell, it's heaven."