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As I subtly raised my head to look at the people, the audience members who were seeing the queen for the first time were looking at me with expressions of shock. Even the middle-aged man who had argued with me was among them.

Glancing at him incredulously, it seemed he felt my gaze because he cleared his throat awkwardly and then shouted out.

“Well, you play well, but… it was just noisy! Traditional classics are definitely better than such loud songs…”

Leaving behind the middle-aged man who had once again gone into his praises of classical music, I approached the man who had lent me the guitar. He looked at me with a gaze that seemed unable to believe he was giving me the guitar, and cautiously handed it over.

“…I will cherish this for life.”

“Excuse me?”

“I never imagined such a tune would come from you… it was unimaginable.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Can I also play like that?”

Hearing his words, I quietly nodded. Did he ask if he could play rock too?

“Of course.”

Absolutely.

Rock was open to anyone.

After I returned to the lab, I realized that my earlier thoughts were incorrect. While Queen’s songs were indeed classics that once heated the Earth, there was an undeniable warmth that could not be explained by that alone.

‘No rock… what is this?’

Rock.

This genre, known as Rock’n Roll, can be summed up in one word.

Resistance.

Resisting unreasonable oppression, resisting the flow of the times, resisting conflicts due to generational gaps, resisting discrimination by race.

It is about resisting external pressures that suppress oneself; that’s what Rock’n Roll is—simply put, it’s rock. And, naturally, there exists no rock in this world.

‘Who would be singing while resisting…? They’d be villains instead.’

This is a world where almost everyone is born with superpowers. Considering that the average power exceeds that of a handgun, and some possess powers that surpass tanks or bombers, it’s rather hard to imagine them singing when oppressed.

If I have a tank, why should I be singing? I could simply smash the opponent’s skull with it.

Thus, those capable enough to create a genre tend to employ their powers for villainous deeds. It means they’d rather take direct action than voice their opinions.

‘This is bad.’

In other words, without realizing it, I have inadvertently spread the seeds of rock in this world. Moreover, it happened before an audience overflowing with interest in arts. I had recklessly thrown seeds, like fertilizer, onto soil that could blossom into something great with even the smallest hint.

While contemplating how this wave might continue, I paused and stopped my thoughts. The seeds have already been scattered. There’s no point in toiling alone, fretting about it endlessly without finding a greater solution.

The best a person can do after igniting a powder keg is to either flee as far away as possible or shout loudly to gather people by announcing that there’s a fire.

I chose the former.

Thus, even though the internet and society were heating up with rock…

I decided to casually look away and not concern myself with it.

* * *

Life as an evil scientist is exceedingly monotonous. I go to work, shut myself in the lab, and pursue the research I want to engage in. Once that’s done, I either fulfill requests from colleagues within the evil organization or attend to the requests of subordinate members.

If that’s finished, truly, there’s nothing left to do. I waste time watching movies or dramas, and when I’m bored, I also delve into comics or animations.

I don’t really step out of the evil organization headquarters. Just how dangerous is it out there? Why would I want to venture out alone and end up in a bad situation?

So, the events tend to be quite similar, and the connections formed are limited as well.

“Umm… Scientist? A person claiming to be your lover has come to see you…”

“…Who?”

This means I’ve had no time to form a romantic relationship out there, nor have I ever dated anyone. The woman in the lobby claiming to be my lover is 100% a trickster.

I reluctantly decided to entertain this scammer. I didn’t want to miss out on the specialness blossoming in my pastoral life. However, the moment I laid eyes on this scammer, my expectations quickly deflated.

“Milk-a. What brings you here?”

“…I can’t believe you actually accepted me.”

“Well, I was curious about who would play such a prank.”

I gazed firmly at Milk-a, who had come impersonating my lover. She must have undergone a body scan and background check before ascending here, so I didn’t really need to regard her with suspicion. If she bore dangerous superpowers, she wouldn’t have been able to make it up here.

Ah, she wouldn’t have even gotten through initial combatants and given up being a hero. As I wore a wry smile, Milk-a began tilting her head in confusion.

“Why do you look so amused?”

“Oh, it’s nothing in particular. By the way, how did you know I was here?”

“I checked the website.”

“…The website?”

“Right. It said everything there.”

Well, I think I did mention that the website contains personal details of the officers and their histories, indicating there’s no need to fear. I never expected someone would come searching so quickly after seeing that.

Anyway, now that I knew how she found me, it was time to ask why she was here. Milk-a, who had been sipping milk tea, opened her mouth cautiously.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“A favor? I don’t think we’re that close, are we?”

“Well, we can just become close, can’t we? I’m your lover.”

Milk-a playfully threw that remark out. Since she had visited me under the guise of being my lover, it was a joke about pretending to be lovers. As I burst into an incredulous smile, I shrugged as if to say, ‘Go on, then.’

“Alright, sweetheart. What is it?”

“…You’re very witty.”

“Who started it?”

“Yes. Anyway, I will speak right away. …Please teach me music.”

“Music?”

At her statement, I tilted my head in confusion. Who exactly was she? A prodigy of the Pokato family. Isn’t she a prominent violinist? She was not someone who needed to be learning from anyone else. She was at a stage where she should be paving her own path.

But why is she asking someone like me, who doesn’t even know how to play the violin, to teach her music?

“I don’t know how to play the violin.”

“Not the violin… it’s the guitar.”

“Guitar?”

“Yes. On the day of my performance, I heard you playing in front.”

“That’s not the sort of skill one would show to a professional. It’s quite embarrassing.”

Laughter slipped from my lips as I acknowledged my amateurish skill, and Milk-a’s eyes sparkled as if asking what I was talking about.

“Embarrassing? It was a wonderful performance!”

“Thank you.”

“…Ahem, anyway. That performance. The heat I felt, which I had never experienced in my life. The freedom contained within it. That’s what I came here to learn.”

As I watched Milk-a bowing her head, asking to be taught about rock, I scratched my cheek in a rather embarrassed manner. While it’s true that rock and rock’n roll were birthed from such sentiments, I couldn’t say that I personally possessed such ideologies.

All I could do was merely replicate their music created long ago and from that, any yearning for resistance and freedom would solely be her interpretation. Even if I said I would teach her, I couldn’t truly convey anything.

When I gently shook my head, she hung her head low as if disappointed.

“I finally found something I want to do, and yet…”

“You can do it. You’ll learn well without my guidance.”

“…Then it would be too late. I want to play well right away.”

“You know well as a performer that such a thing is impossible, don’t you? Performance skills are determined by the effort accumulated day by day, not the identity of the teacher.”

“But then it would be too late…”

Milk-a revealed her inner thoughts with a quivering voice.

She doesn’t want to be merely the best; she aims to be the first.

She felt possibilities in my performance. The potential to leave a mark in history.

She needed to showcase her skills to the people right away. If she waited to build up her skills now, it would be way too late. By then, people would interpret her music on their own and reveal it to the world; she could never be the first, a special being.

Hearing those words, I understood the profound inferiority complex that had settled in Milk-a’s heart. She wanted to be special, entirely by her own power.

While some might say her position is already special enough, it wouldn’t resonate with someone born as a prodigy.

After listening to her, I nodded as if I understood and stood up.

“—Milk-a. Do you truly want to be a special person?”

“Eh? Yes…”

“Would you be willing to give up anything for that?”

“I can give up anything… yes! I can sacrifice anything!”

“Even if it means you might never play the violin for life?”

Upon hearing that, Milk-a hesitated for a moment. But her hesitation was short-lived, and she promptly answered without hesitation, befitting her young age.

“Yes! Even if it means I can’t play the violin for life!”

“—You said it yourself.”

“…Huh?”

Leaving aside the bewildered Milk-a, who tilted her head in confusion, I returned holding a syringe placed in the corner of the lab.

“Congratulations, Milk-a. From today, you’ll become a special person.”

“Uh, wait a moment?”

As I held onto her, bewildered, I injected the medicine into her arm.