The Basics of Music Are Mathematics
My head throbbed like it was about to split open. Every time my cheek brushed the hard floor, it felt like my brain cells were pounding out a drum solo in unison. I let out a weak groan and slowly pushed myself up.
"Aghhh… my back. I really thought I was a goner."
When I rubbed my face, I felt the crusty scab of dried blood. The floor was a mess of my nosebleed, caked on gruesomely. A wizard, my ass—pouring all that mana into a simple sound barrier and ending up with a nosebleed finale. It was more humiliating than passing out from an all-nighter back in my old life.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. What a sight. My ash-gray hair was a tangled disaster, and dried blood streaked from under my nose to my chin.
"What the hell is this…?"
I splashed cold water on my face to scrub off the blood. At least it was lucky that the blood came from my nose instead of my mouth, and none had gotten on my clothes or hair. The hardened scabs wouldn't budge easily, so I had to rub until my skin turned red and raw. Washing away the metallic tang, I shuffled back to the living room and let out a heavy sigh.
But the sunlight streaming through the window felt off. Yesterday around lunchtime when I'd collapsed, the sun had been blazing high overhead. Now, the light was a soft orange glow—the gentle warmth of morning.
I glanced at the battered old clock on the wall, a sinking feeling in my gut.
"Wait… it's morning now? Did I seriously black out for a whole damn day?"
Panicking, I moved quickly, but thankfully, that crushing weakness from yesterday was gone. Instead, a mild warmth filled my body, like mana trickling back in, coiling comfortably. Looks like forcibly recharging by passing out cold for a full day had done the trick.
"Phew, good mana recovery is a silver lining, I guess… but I just wasted a whole day."
Outside the window, that hellish cacophony was crashing back in. The spell must've worn off. I reached for my staff, then hesitated. Wrapping the whole house again might actually send me to the pearly gates—or whatever passed for them here.
"Alright, compromise time. No full-house barrier! Just around my desk."
Carefully drawing up mana, I formed a tight spherical shield around the desk. Smaller radius meant way less drain, and the headache was manageable. Sinking into the returning silence, I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Fuu, now I can live again."
I plopped down at the desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Then remembered—right next to me should've been a ballpoint pen… yeah, no such luck.
"Can't magic make something like this…?"
I suddenly craved the 0.5mm black ballpoint I'd always pocketed in my old life. Settling for a quill, I drew five long horizontal lines across the page.
"One, two, three, four, five… okay."
A bit wobbly, but there it was: the world's first staff notation. I deftly sketched in a treble clef and chewed on the quill, lost in thought.
"Alright, game on… but where the hell do I even start teaching?"
People in this world had zero—hell, negative—music literacy. Beat first, to drill rhythm into that noise? Or pitch, the musical scale?
"Start with beat… I'd need a metronome for that clanging tin-can crap. Nah, it'd probably be worse."
Teach rhythm, and would they politely clap or tap their feet? Fat chance—they'd scream those freakish wails right on beat. Picturing a crowd howling in sync gave me chills. That wouldn't be music; it'd be some eldritch horror show.
So, basics of melody: the scale it was.
"Yeah, scale first. Show 'em sounds have pitch, and pitch has order."
Order needed a foundation. Back home, most music split an octave into twelve equal semitones—equal temperament.
"Double the frequency for an octave up… so each note's ratio is the twelfth root of two."
Someone might think, Just divide the octave evenly into twelve, right? But human ears perceive pitch logarithmically, not linearly. A 100Hz note up an octave is 200Hz; another octave is 400Hz, not 300Hz. Pin A4 at 440Hz, then calculate 440 × ²√12 up to the eleventh power…
"Roughly sorted."
The twelve tones of equal temperament—my daily bread as a composer—done. Who knew useless trivia would save the day? Moral of the story: learn everything.
"…But how do I teach this?"
Here's the rub. Theory's solid, but theory doesn't fill bellies. If I were a princess or duchess's daughter, I could just proclaim, "Behold, new art!" and call it done.
"But I'm just some no-name 6th-grade commoner mage."
Even killer tunes from me would get drowned out by plaza screamers' clout. I'd be the crazy one. And they didn't even know do-re-mi. Harmony theory to music illiterates? No shot.
My head spun; I stabbed the paper with the quill. To share this, I needed physical vibration—an instrument. But the "music" shop? Scrap metal, dented pots, chains. Hardware store, more like—I'd have doubted the sign otherwise.
"Haa… just belt out a song in the plaza?"
I pictured it: frail girl in the noisy square, singing do-re-mi.
Do~ is a white canvas~ Re~ is a round record~
…Nah. Crowds staring, me humming amid the din.
"…Ugh, no way in hell."
Face burning at the thought. Even before, I'd composed backstage—crowds terrified me. Shy, stage-fright king like me, center stage? Better to nosebleed again.
"And it'd even be audible…?"
Raw voice in that scream-fest? Quieter than a neighbor's dog. Cecilia's voice was soft, delicate. Busking without an amp? Dead on arrival.
"Making an instrument's the safest bet."
Let my creation sing; I'd rather watch from afar than perform.
"Materials are the issue, though."
I sketched guitar blueprints in the paper's corner. Piano too bulky; guitar size felt right. But strings here?
Fishing line? Horsehair?
"Doubt my wallet can swing it."
I emptied my hefty pouch: a few hundred coppers, some silver. Sorry, fruit vendor. Anyway, march to a smith and demand, "Precise strings for 440Hz—multifilament nylon core wrapped in silvered copper"? He'd hammer my skull 440 times a second.
"…Wait, am I stuck in old-world thinking?"
Quill down, chin on hand. Magic fantasy world—dragons soaring, fireballs flying. No string materials?
Yesterday's market was "artist" junk. Look elsewhere: monster spider silk? Mana-infused alloy wire?
"Yeah. This continent's gotta have something. Spider threads, thin magic conductor…"
After agonizing, I stood.
"Alright, out again. Sitting won't drop a guitar from the sky."
Staff in hand, I stepped into the hell-noise beyond the door. Crowded markets weren't my jam.
"Grab materials fast and bolt."
Guitar blueprint and staff tucked away, I opened the front door once more.