Chapter 75
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: A Performance I Could Never Pull Off, Even in Death
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Twang, twing.
A performer in baggy jeans, a loose hoodie pulled deep over his head, awkwardly strumming a beat-up guitar.
Rimon crossed his arms as he listened.
Hmm, not particularly good.
Thanks to wandering around and catching all sorts of shows lately, Rimon's ear for music had sharpened quite a bit.
By his standards, the performer's skill was pretty lacking.
At best, just past beginner level—worse than the indie band guitarist he'd just dismissed moments ago.
Still, it's not grating.
Even so, Rimon didn't turn away. He deliberately stood there, arms crossed, taking it in.
This was the first performer he'd seen since starting his rounds who wasn't using a skill.
Twing, twang-twang.
After all those godawful skill-clashing performances lately, even this feels like it's cleansing my ears.
Rimon chuckled softly.
The absence of dissonant noise from music skills.
That alone was reason enough to savor this flawed performance.
But his leisurely listening came to an end there.
Don't look at me—
(Don't look at me)
The moment the performer opened his mouth, Rimon's eyes widened involuntarily.
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 echoing raw, without mic or amp.
In this street overflowing with every kind of noise, it was too quiet, too rough to draw attention. No one spared it a thought.
This is...
Watching the performer everyone ignored, Rimon wore a strange expression.
It wasn't well sung.
Seemed self-composed, and amateurish at that.
Even the voice wasn't particularly pretty or beautiful.
Like the guitar, the song was immature—easier to find reasons to tune it out than listen on.
But Rimon saw it.
The bliss on the performer's face as he began to sing, like he owned the world.
And he heard it.
The clumsy strumming blending with the raw vocals to create a beautiful harmony.
I see.
It was only half-baked at best.
Even improved, it was like 5 plus 5 making 10—still nowhere near the 50 or 100 baseline of true masters.
But at least in this moment.
The song seeped into Rimon's heart as vividly as Julia's playing.
So that's what they mean by 'love the music.'
A realm beyond technique, flair, or talent.
The power that made this clumsy song comparable to a virtuoso like Julia.
Ignoring pitch and rhythm, singing from the heart—pure emotion transmitted all the more for it.
Feeling his own heart resonate, Rimon understood.
And gave a wry smile.
A performance I could never pull off, even in death.
He now knew why his violin skills had plateaued, blocked by something.
He was too old, too cunning a swordsman to pour out emotion with a child's pure joy like that performer.
He could learn, but not change. Mastery of hiding bred weakness in revealing.
That's what aging was.
That's why the old always envy the young.
Rimon was no different.
A little envious, huh.
His own youth had ended in the Bronze Age.
This young man's pure passion stirred not just envy, but a murky jealousy.
Jealousy... It's been ages since I felt something like this.
Not even when the Iron Age dawned, with everyone solving swordsmanship and talent via skills— no jealousy, not even envy.
Now mocking himself for envying a street performer, Rimon kept listening.
Don't look back—
there's nothing to tell me.
there's nothing holding me.
look at me and smile like that—
(Don't look back)
(Nothing left to say to me)
(Nothing holding me back)
(So look at me and smile like that)
Just cheerfully, purely enjoying it.
Strumming wildly, singing his heart out.
Maybe because the playing was such a mess, or because they missed the song.
No one else listened besides Rimon. Passersby who paused briefly lost interest and hurried on.
But the performer didn't stop.
As if one listener was enough.
Or just because it felt good.
He kept strumming and singing, endlessly.
What a shame.
As the performer's emotion deepened, the technical flaws stood out more, filling Rimon with regret.
And it hit him.
What songs could this guy sing with proper training from a pro trainer, filling those skill gaps?
Never thought I'd be thinking this while listening to street music.
Rimon smiled wryly.
As Sword Tower's lord, he'd felt plenty of pity for unflowering geniuses or those blocked by walls.
But regret over a talent unrelated to swordplay, fighting, or politics? First time.
If it were Julia...
She who loved music most would bloom this talent, by any means.
She'd covered lodging on top of lessons, despite claiming she taught nothing.
No, pointless thought.
But Rimon wasn't Julia.
He'd only learned music out of necessity—no reason to meddle.
Especially now, knowing his own playing wouldn't improve.
[Huh? Team leader, you leaving?]
"Yeah."
That was why Rimon finally turned to go.
Lingering on this song might breed needless attachment.
[He's still playing though?]
"What, like this is my first time walking out mid-performance?"
[Well, sure, but...]
Maybe because Rimon, who nitpicked every other act, hadn't complained about this one.
Yuna Kyung tilted her head, but Rimon ignored it.
He just started walking away.
"Huh? What's this? Someone's in our spot."
"Looks like another newbie."
"Ah, damn. These clueless rookies got no skill but balls of steel. Total street Yeopo, that Yeopo."
"Eh, not bad for a beginner."
"Not bad my ass, the pitch is all over the place."
Rimon halted abruptly.
A trio had shown up with guitars, bass, and portable amps, yapping in front of the performer.
"Hey, let's talk for a sec."
"Look, we're not picking a fight or anything."
"Don't play dumb. This is our spot usually, so mind clearing out?"
But no matter what the trio said, the performer kept singing.
As if he hadn't heard.
Or didn't care if he had.
Just kept strumming, pouring emotion into his song.
"Tch, won't listen."
"Hey, we're talking to you!"
Irked by the ignore, or figuring talk was wasted effort.
The trio grabbed the guitar by force, trying to stop him.
Or tried to.
"Hey, kids."
If not for the two arms suddenly draped over their shoulders.
"Just to check, you wouldn't be confiscating an innocent citizen's property and resorting to violence, would you?"
Wh-what the...
What’s this strength? High-level player?
The two older ones in the trio, reflexively trying to shake off the arms, panicked at the concrete-like grip.
They glanced at each other, then focused on the black-haired man who'd wedged between them, arms linked forcibly over their shoulders: Rimon.
"Ahem! Look, mister, seems like a misunderstanding."
"We were just trying to talk. Yeah, talk."
"Hm, so interrupting someone's show and snatching their instrument is 'talking' these days?"
Rimon smiled chillingly, glancing at their hands reaching for the guitar.
That lethal gaze, more terrifying than a thousand words, made them flinch and shrink back as they desperately justified themselves.
"It's a misunderstanding."
"We just wanted to chat about the performance, that's all. Right, Jeongjun?"
"Y-yeah."
"Oh? Guess I got it wrong then."
The trio sighed in relief at Rimon's ready acceptance.
"Glad you understa—"
"So what'd you wanna talk about?"
"Huh?"
"What was so important you had to crash someone else's gig? Seems beneath fellow performers."
Squeeze.
Rimon asked like he genuinely wondered.
The two beside him grimaced.
His casual tone belied the tightening grip on their shoulders, inflicting just enough pain.
Not enough to wound and scream over—just a harsh massage, hard to resist properly.
So they politely answered.
"Like you know, mister, this is Music Street, right?"
"Yeah, anyone can play."
"Sure, but with every tom, dick, and harry showing up, it turned into Noise Street."
"So us performers agreed: one team per zone."
"...So to perform here, you gotta get zones from the regulars?"
"Yes."
Rimon furrowed his brow.
Long experience told him the problems this caused.
"Just checking, does that distribution involve paying up?"
"Well, not mandatory, but we chip in what we can afford each time, y'know, courtesy."
"And that sets good spots from bad ones?"
"Uh, officially? No."
"Unofficially?"
"..."
The trio averted their eyes slyly.
Rimon tsked, understanding from that alone.
So their 'performer self-governance' was just old corruption fueled by bribes and connections.
Art was always one of the easiest trades to skim protection money from, any era.
"What kinda Music Street is that?"
"Even if you say that..."
"We didn't make the rules..."
No point blaming them for shitty rules they didn't create, nothing they could do.
Rimon frowned at their excuses.
Seeing it, the trio hurriedly added.
"We don't force money. Crappy spots like this are basically free, application’s just formality."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. Got a music skill? They'll usually assign you a zone."
"Rare skill or high level gets you prime spots cheap."
"..."
As long as performers weren't swamped, cheap zones available.
So the issue was rule-breakers, not them.
Their words had excuses but were usually convincing.
Except one part.
"What if not?"
"Huh?"
"What if no music skill?"
"Uh..."
Maybe the question was too out-of-left-field.
Or Rimon's sharpening glare unnerved them.
Stammering, they answered.
"We chase 'em off usually."
"No one without a music skill applies anyway."
"Why would a skillless hack perform? This ain't a playground."
"Exactly, those worthless punks made noise pollution, birthing these rules."
"Unless they pay a fortune... but who'd waste that on street gigs?"
They answered dismissively, like it was obvious.
Seeing other onlookers nod confidently, but soon they froze.
"Skillless performances are just noise, no right to street stages..."
A bone-chilling voice.
A blade-sharp gaze.
Above all, the twisted smirk itching for a fight.
It froze them solid.
"That's a fine philosophy."
Rimon asked softly as they gulped dryly.
"Just to confirm: do you use skills to shit too, or do you just shit yourselves without?"