BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—
The alarm drilled into my ears. I groaned. I swiped my hand over the phone to turn it off.
My body was heavy. I didn't dream this time. I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. The first thing I saw was the guitar, still resting in the corner like it was watching me.
Right. That actually happened.
I dragged myself through the morning routine: shower, teeth, food, keys. The normal stuff felt almost unfamiliar.
Got into my car and drove to the university.
Half an hour later, I stepped onto campus, blending in. my mind was still a little dazzled. By the time I got to Harmony 205, my head was clearer. Sort of.
Professor Requena entered just as I dropped into my seat.
"Good morning, composers," he announced, sounding far too enthusiastic for this hour. "Today, we're going to continue with emotion in melody, how sound manipulates the heart and the mind."
He scribbled the words across the screen with an stylus.
"Which musical modes or techniques do you associate with each of these?" he asked. Hands went up. I stayed quiet.
But as the class spoke, all I could think of was Fairy Tail. Not the show. The feeling. The swell of magic during battle. The weight of Erza's presence. Makarov's silent strength. And the way the music had surged beneath it all like it was alive.
"Ren," Requena's voice cut through my thoughts. "You submitted your assignment this morning, didn't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, barely made it."
"Good. Mind giving us a preview? What did you say the composer felt?"
I hesitated, then shrugged and answered.
"That they weren't just writing music. They were carrying something. Every note had weight, grief, hope, fury, whatever they were feeling. The rhythms didn't try to impress. They were more like… a battle cry. A kind of emotional relay."
The room was quiet for a second too long. Then Requena smiled faintly.
"Not bad, Mr. Cadence. Remind me to borrow that line later."
A few people laughed. I grinned, quietly.
For once, I hadn't answered with theory or guesswork. I'd spoken from experience, even if it had come from a different world.
Professor Requena turned from the board and clapped once.
"Alright. I want you to listen to this piece, don't analyze it with your brain, analyze it with your heart."
He hit play on the audio system. A soft piano began, gentle, floating, but slowly it grew dissonant. Strings crept in, subtle at first, then unsettling. The room fell into a strange silence.
My fingers twitched. My ears picked up on something others might miss, a rhythm buried beneath the melody. When the music faded, Requena crossed his arms.
"Describe what you felt. Not what you heard. What you felt."
A few hands went up. Words like "uneasy," "nostalgic," and "haunted" floated across the room. Then he pointed at me.
"Ren."
"It felt like... someone trying to remember something important," I said slowly, "but the memory hurts. Like they're smiling while falling apart inside. And the anger, pure rage, almost like saying I hate everything. At the end Sorrow..."
The class was quiet for a beat.
Requena's eyebrows lifted slightly. He nodded.
The work is called "Hate" from a channel called Lucas King. Not something you can heard from the classics
Then from beside me, Dani whispered again, "Bro. Did you eat poetic cereal or something?"
I stifled a laugh and muttered, "It's talent."
Dani looked at me seriously and just punched me in the arm.
Requena continued. "You see? Music doesn't live on paper. It lives in experience. You don't compose with technique, you compose with intention."
He moved to the whiteboard again and scribbled three words:
Melody - Emotion - Context
"Anyone can play a melody. A real musician understands what that melody means depending on where, and why it's played."
He tapped the word "context" with emphasis.
I sat back, letting his words settle into me. Yeah. That part I was starting to understand.
He glanced at the clock and clapped his hands once.
"Alright, that's all for today. Same group presentation schedule for next week, don't forget to submit your drafts before Monday. And please," he added, pointing vaguely toward our side of the room, "don't wait until Sunday at midnight to feel inspired. or... 3 in the morning" he looked straight at me.
A few groans and laughs rolled through the classroom as chairs shifted and laptops clicked shut.
I packed my things slowly, still thinking about what he'd said. Context. I hadn't understood it before, not really. But now? After Fairy Tail, after every song... something in me did.
As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, a voice called from behind me.
"Hey, Cadence!"
I turned to see Oriol, fellow music geek, occasional beatboxer, and one of the few people who actually knew how to use the school's analog console. He raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"That answer you gave earlier… the one about music being alive? Man... Where'd that come from?"
I scratched the back of my neck, trying to play it cool. "I dunno. It just… made sense."
He gave me a long look, then nodded. "Well, if you say so"
There was a pause between us, one of those quiet beats where neither of us needed to say anything profound. Then, like flipping a switch, he grinned again.
"So, you're officially the Professor's golden boy now? Should I start calling you Maestro Cadence?"
I snorted. "Please don't. But... Actually you can call me Tempo"
Oriol burst out laughing. "Tempo? Seriously?"
I shrugged with mock pride. "It's got flair. It's musical. It fits."
"Alright, Tempo," he said, smirking. "Don't get ahead of the beat."
We both laughed, and the bell rang before he could get another jab in. Students shuffled out of the classroom, buzzing with conversation. Oriol nudged my shoulder as we made our way toward the stairs.
"Next up, Guitar Practice, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Let's see if my fingers still work after two hours of theory."
"You say that like you didn't just blow everyone's mind a few minutes ago."
I didn't reply, just smiled to myself. My hands still tingled a little from the dream. From the music that had flowed through them.
Maybe they'd work even better now.
We pushed open the door to the music room. Rows of chairs circled around a central amp setup, and the scent of wood.. My fingers were already twitching with anticipation.
Oriol was already at the back, fiddling with some pedals by the amplifier. He glanced over and smirked. "Ready to put those hands to work?"
I smirked back, pulling my guitar from its stand. The wood felt warm beneath my fingertips, familiar and alive.
I settled into a chair near the amp and tuned the strings methodically, each note singing clear. The classroom and Requena's lesson still echoed in my mind: melody, emotion, context. I strummed a few chords, testing the waters. The sound was good, but something inside me urged for more.
Closing my eyes, I let the rhythm pulse through me. The sensation from the dream wasn't gone. I ran my fingers over the strings in patterns I hadn't tried before.
Oriol watched, eyebrows raised. "Hey, that's not the usual warm-up."
I shrugged, grinning. "Guess I'm improvising today."
The notes blended, first soft and tentative, then growing richer, deeper. A melody formed, weaving between hope and sorrow, tension and release. I felt my heart syncing with the rhythm, every chord a word in an unspoken story.
"Man, you're on fire," Oriol said, stepping closer, nodding in approval.
I didn't respond, words felt unnecessary. The music said everything.
For a long moment, the room was just the sound of my guitar.
When I finally stopped, I smiled.
Oriol clapped once, breaking the silence. "Okay, Tempo. That was impressive. You might actually live up to the nickname."
The door opened and Ms. Alvarez stepped in, carrying a small guitar case. She set it down with a soft thud and smiled at the class.
"Alright, everyone, today we're focusing on finger placement and tone, how the way you touch the strings can change everything about your sound."
She lifted a guitar and held it up. "See, your fingers..." Her voice trailed off and I followed the instructions.
Ms. Alvarez demonstrated, plucking a note gently with the tip of her finger, then sliding her finger slightly and plucking again, the difference clear and immediate.
"Try this," she said, walking around the room. "Experiment with using the pads of your fingers, the tips, or even the nails. Notice how each creates a different texture."
I adjusted my fingers on the strings, feeling the subtle changes in vibration and tone. The lesson was simple but it helped a lot.
............
"Nice work today, everyone. Remember, your fingers don't just play, they speak. Make sure they're saying something worth hearing."
We packed up our guitars and slung our cases over our shoulders. As we stepped out into the hallway, the midday sun filtered through the tall campus windows, and the sound of students heading to lunch echoed in the background.
Oriol stretched with a groan. "Man, my fingers hurt."
I chuckled.
Just then, Dani appeared from the other hallway, tray in hand, already munching on a sandwich. "Hey, string freaks. You coming or what?"
Oriol nodded toward the cafeteria. "Lead the way, Dani-boy."
We found our usual spot in the far corner of the cafeteria, away from the main crowd. Dani plopped down first. "So, Ren. Be honest. Did something happen to you? You played different today. Better. Like… actually good."
Oriol snorted. "So he was bad?, dude poor Ren."
I shrugged, poking at the pasta on my tray. "I dunno. Just… trying to feel the music more, I guess."
Dani narrowed her eyes. "Feel the music? You sound like Requena. Ew are you his lackey?"
"Hey, if it works…" I said with a smirk.
Oriol leaned back, arms behind his head. "Well, whatever it is, keep doing it. The way you played today? It was better, keep at it."
"Yeah," I said. "I think I will."
...............
After school, I headed back to my apartment. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my backpack by the door.
No assignments. No group work. No looming deadlines. (Well Requena wanted something, but maybe on the weekend)
Weird. For once, I had time, like real time and I didn't quite know what to do with it.
I opened my PC, played a few rounds of Osu! to get my reflexes going. My fingers danced across the keys, keeping rhythm like muscle memory. I lost track of time for a while, focused, relaxed... almost bored.
Eventually, I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
The dream. The world of Fairy Tail. The music that came alive in my hands.
Could I go back?
I stood up, instinctively raising my hand like before. "Dimension?."
Nothing.
I frowned and tried again, more focused. "Summon... system interface."
Still nothing. Just silence.
I closed my eyes. Tried to remember exactly how it had felt. The pulse, the rhythm, the sense that I was being pulled somewhere deeper.
Nothing came.
I sat back down on my bed, frustrated. Had it just been a one-time thing? Some weird, vivid dream wrapped in emotion and music?
No. It felt real. I know it was real.
But now… silence.
My guitar sat in the corner, quiet and still. I glanced at it, wondering if that was the key, or if I was just grasping at strings, pun totally intended.
I sighed and flopped back onto the bed, one arm over my eyes.
Maybe it wasn't about calling it.
Maybe it had to call me.
I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, thoughts spinning. The silence in the room felt louder than usual. My fingers tapped absently against my chest. No rhythm, just habit.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I just needed rest.
My eyelids were heavier than I thought. I shifted on the bed, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
The hum of the room faded. The light behind my eyelids softened.
And just like that… I was slipping.
Into sleep...
.............
A sudden shout snapped me awake.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF ME, BUT YOU ARE MY FRIEND!"
That sounded like a classic Natsu shout... but something about the voice didn't sit right.
Thick smoke billowed up around me, choking the air and blurring my vision.
"Wait… where the hell am I? This is not Fairy Tail"