“WANTED: Bassist, drummer (keyboardist also welcome)”
Jazzy posted this brief message online.
A few days later, a message arrived from a user named DINA:
“Hi, I’m DINA, a keyboardist. If you don’t mind, I can bring a bassist and drummer I know to join your band.”
Jazzy stared at his neural interface, deep in thought. Did this count as turning over a new leaf?
After mulling it over, he replied to DINA:
“Welcome. My studio is at XX District, OO Street. Just come straight over.”
A few days later…
A girl whose modest attire clashed sharply with the flamboyant city, and two men who clearly looked like street performers, arrived at Jazzy’s place.
“You’re Jazzy, right?” The girl stared at him, her eyes shining with determination.
Jazzy pinched the bridge of his nose, his expression a mix of frustration and amusement. “Uh… First High School is one kilometer left after you leave here.”
“I’m not a high schooler!!!” DINA puffed out her cheeks in protest.
Behind her, the two men nodded silently, smiling. One of them, wearing sunglasses and dressed like he was ready to perform at the next nightclub, extended his hand.
“Mr. Jazzy, it’s an honor to join the band of a ‘big name in the underground music scene.’”
Jazzy raised an eyebrow and shook his hand. “Oh? When did I get so famous?”
The other man had a haphazard haircut, his entire demeanor screaming, I’m so cool. He said, “Dude, your ‘music’ is way more thrilling than the stuff we just mess around with!”
Jazzy was silent for a moment before replying, “This time, I’m not messing with that. I really want to try making some ‘serious music.’”
“Alright, fine, serious music. We get it. Where’s the rehearsal room? I’m the bassist, he’s the drummer, and the girl’s our keyboardist.” The sunglasses guy took off his shades, gesturing toward the instrument bag on his back.
The group entered Jazzy’s basement, stepping into a chaotic studio cluttered with synthesizers, keyboards, microphones, and all sorts of random equipment.
“So, the infamous music kingpin lives like this? How… unique,” the bassist remarked with a wry smile.
“Save your sarcasm. I cleared out a whole storage room for the rehearsal space. Come on.”
Jazzy opened a door, revealing a tidy room furnished with a drum kit, an 88-key keyboard, speakers, and PA equipment.
“Now this is more like it,” the drummer said, clearly pleased with the pristine drum set.
Jazzy clapped his hands. “Enough chatter. Let’s get to rehearsing!”
Half a day later
“That’s it for today,” Jazzy said, putting down his guitar. “I’ll finish the arrangement and send it out to everyone later.”
“Good work, man.” The bassist flashed a rock hand gesture.
“Um… um…” DINA hesitated as she stepped away from the keyboard. “Can I stay a bit longer?”
The drummer started teasing. “Oh no, our little sis is about to get lured in by this bad-boy musician.”
Jazzy flipped him the bird before saying, “Sure. Stay as long as you want.”
After seeing the bassist and drummer out, the city’s neon lights flared up once again, their brilliance impossible to look at directly.
…
“So, what is it you want to talk about?”
Jazzy handed DINA a cup of instant coffee.
Taking the cup with slightly trembling hands, DINA said nervously, “I think… Jazzy, you’re really different from most people.”
“Different? Extra handsome, you mean?” Jazzy replied with a smirk.
“Handsome? Hehe, a little, I guess. But what I mean is…” DINA sipped her coffee before continuing, “You’re very lonely.”
──You’re very lonely.
In 25 years of living, no one had ever said that to Jazzy before.
“DINA, what nonsense have you figured out about me, the so-called music kingpin? I’m just—”
DINA interrupted him, “You can hear the ’emotions in sound,’ right?”
Jazzy froze, taken aback. “I don’t get it. Care to explain in plain language?”
“It’s like… like…” DINA began stammering, clearly flustered. “When I heard your guitar, I could tell you were in a state of ‘self-destruction.’ And when you heard my keyboard, you told me what was missing in my performance.”
She took a deep breath.
“We’re the same.”
A flood of thoughts surged in Jazzy’s mind, but none could find their way to his tongue. No retort, no joke—nothing could hide the precision of DINA’s insight, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
“Jazzy, do you know why I play music?”
Jazzy shook his head.
“I want…” DINA’s eyes glimmered with an ocean of hope. “I want to find a family in the world of music.”
“A family…”
“Yes! A family connected by notes and chords, a home built from melodies. That’s my dream.”
Jazzy smiled faintly, a mix of approval and skepticism. “That’s a grand yet modest dream.”
“That’s why, Jazzy, I want to ask you for a favor.”
DINA walked over to the toy piano, pressing a C major chord. “This is our beginning, and it will never end.”
“I don’t get it,” Jazzy said.
“You don’t have to,” DINA replied, her smile a blend of innocence and maturity. “Be my big brother.”
Jazzy burst out laughing. “What would I do with a sister who only knows three keys?”
“I don’t care. You’re my brother now. I’ll be sending you endless spam messages at night.”
“Alright, blocked.”
DINA turned toward the door, throwing him a glance over her shoulder. “You won’t. I know you won’t.”
She left, leaving behind a half-empty cup of cold coffee.
And Jazzy, left alone to ruminate on her words, over and over again.
