Prologue
That day was just like any other ordinary day.
The window was dark outside, and on my studio desk lay a paper cup of cold coffee and a mess of scattered sheet music. The sequencer screen on my monitor was crammed full of MIDI notes that looked like they'd crawled straight out of hell.
It had taken me three whole hours just to tweak a single snare sample. Matching the kick and bass pitches, adjusting the reverb levels... fussing over every single note until my head felt like it was going to explode.
Was this making music, or solving math problems? I couldn't tell anymore.
"Ah, seriously... can't someone just wipe out all this music theory crap?"
A world where you didn't have to worry about rhythm or harmony, where you could just create whatever felt right and still be a genius. I wanted to take a break there—just one week.
I meant it. That night, I passed out face-down on my studio desk. I figured I'd wake up the next morning with the usual back pain, like always...
"—Gwaaaaaah!!!"
A scream that tore through my ears jolted me bolt upright. In my half-asleep daze, I thought maybe I'd cranked the speaker volume to max.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
I shouted in panic the moment I opened my eyes, then froze in shock at the thin, reedy voice that came out of my throat. This wasn't my studio. An unfamiliar ceiling loomed above me, the air thick with the musty smell of old paper. And outside the window... people flying around on broomsticks?
"Where the hell am I? And why does my voice sound like this…?"
Figuring it was a dream, I pinched my cheek hard. But the sharp sting was all too real.
"Hmm, kinda squishy... wait, that's not the point!" I had no idea how or why I'd ended up here. As I tried to calm my racing thoughts, another hellish noise erupted from outside.
"Uwaaaaaah!" Bang! Bang! Bang!
Some guy in the middle of the plaza was pounding on metal pipes and screeching at the top of his lungs. Was he getting mugged? I rushed to the window. But the crowd's reaction blew my expectations out of the water.
"Whoa! Check out that musician's vocal power! What an incredible song!"
"Today's performance is the best yet. That irregular noise is true art!"
...What? Song? Art? That?
I stood there dumbfounded by the shocking scene when last night's memory flashed through my mind. 'Can't someone just wipe out all this music theory crap?'
My heart sank. With a growing dread, I scanned the room again—no instruments in sight. Just a wooden staff etched with bizarre patterns and a few thick books scattered around.
"No, this is too much..."
Okay, I'd wished for it to be gone, but not everything!
If this noise was a song, then this world was utterly insane. And in this mad world, I resolved to become the composer who would create true music—something that had never existed here before.