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🕑 Added 2025-07-02 16:37:35 +0000 UTCChapter 219: The Magic of Music Notes
Seated in front of the piano, Ronan felt his entire being quiet down. Though his stomach fluttered with the excitement of butterflies taking flight, his emotions and thoughts began to settle. His eyes and mind focused solely on the piano before him, forgetting the presence of others, the location, even time and space. There was only him and the piano. Him and the music. The world, in that moment, fell silent.
Even though it was their first meeting, Ronan could almost feel the piano’s soul—ancient and calm, with the unmistakable marks of time etched deep within its frame.
He lightly ran his fingers over the black and white keys without pressing them down, simply feeling their texture and emotion. Subtly, he seemed to sense the sorrow and weight of time within them. Almost involuntarily, Ronan closed his eyes. His index finger pressed down, and a crisp sound rang out—a call from the depths of the sea, cold and profound. A heavy, icy presence began to spread from beneath his fingertips.
Taking a deep breath, Ronan placed both hands on the keys. Then, his fingers began to dance across them, graceful and fluid. The melody flowed out smoothly, like running water. There was a gentle sorrow beneath it all, a sense of loneliness that made the whole world feel as if he were the only one left—
Alone in a vast universe.
Ollie’s eyes suddenly lit up. It was that song—the one they had started composing together on the plane but never finished, the one about the demons of the heart. He hadn’t known Ronan completed it the night before. As the melody filled the air, it struck a deep chord in Ollie’s heart.
This version was different from the powerful, explosive one they had originally worked on in the cabin, which had been filled with pounding beats and emotional surges. This time, there were no supporting instruments—only the piano. Yet, it didn’t feel lacking in the slightest.
On the contrary—
It felt like standing before a deep blue sea scattered with floating ice. The immense cold and vastness stretched endlessly in front of him. Gravity itself seemed to falter, throwing the world into chaos as waves, wind, and freezing storm surged in together.
Lonely. Desolate.
Majestic. Monumental.
The force in Ronan’s soul poured out through his fingertips, not in brute force, but in a light, rhythmic dance. The heavy, chaotic emotions exploded in icy notes that struck the chest sharply, again and again, like a storm—leaving listeners breathless, frozen in place.
It was a scream. A cry from within. But also a call. A desperate plea for help.
Rough yet tender.
Weighty yet delicate.
Such conflicting emotions were woven together seamlessly. Ronan’s control over his finger strength was so precise, so subtle, that the sadness and loneliness embedded in each note came to life. The piano—like Pinocchio in Ronan’s hands—seemed to gain a soul of its own and spring to life.
Emotions welled silently within Ollie. More than anyone else, he could feel the emotion in the melody—so vividly, so deeply.
If he ever became a monster… if the beast within truly devoured his soul… then he believed the music notes would still shine as the hope that could save him.
“Soar far and wide, sing with all your might— You’ll be unstoppable. Merge as one, no more divide— You can carry the pain away.
If I become a demon, Save me.”
The lyrics unfurled in his mind like butterflies emerging from cocoons, rising toward the light through darkness and shadow. Standing small before the grandeur, humbled before the vastness, Ollie was overcome by a tangle of emotions. He was utterly immersed, unable to pull himself out—even the slightest movement of a finger felt impossible.
Now, Ollie truly understood the depth of Ronan’s musical composition. It was so real, so stirring. The way melody clashed and harmonized with emotion gave birth to an unbelievable power in every note.
As the final note faded…
Ronan’s fingers lifted from the keys, but the echo still lingered, as if the piano itself were whispering back to him, longing for an encore.
The lingering vibration of those notes brimmed with joy and excitement, yet also carried sorrow and bitterness. The air rippled with them like waves softly crashing against the shore. The melody lingered long after the song had ended, and it felt as though other instruments began to quietly resonate in response—each joining in, expressing the same emotion in their own voice.
The entire space was filled with an almost magical energy.
This—this was the true essence of auditory beauty.
Ronan bowed his head slightly, breathing heavily—not just from physical exhaustion, but because his mind was overflowing and needed to rest.
Gradually, his thoughts settled. Ronan opened his eyes and turned to look at Curtis.
Curtis, seemingly reading his gaze, spoke first. “This piano is German-made. It survived World War II. When Roman Polanski was filming The Pianist, he asked to borrow this piano, but we declined. It has undergone two restorations and still requires very delicate care. It’s not suited for the intensity of film production.”
“Ah,” Ronan sighed with understanding. “No wonder.”
Curtis looked into Ronan’s bright eyes, which sparkled with excitement and emotion—more expressive than words. “Your music… it often feels like it's rushing toward the light from within the darkness.”
Just like the piece Ronan had just played. And like Chasing the Light and Born This Way.
Music never lies. It reflects the truest emotions of the heart. That’s the nature of art—it’s born from life itself.
Even without lyrics or vocals, Curtis could clearly sense the weight of feeling embedded in those notes. It was something truly unique.
Ronan nodded in agreement. “We’re all waiting in the dark for our own ray of light. We’ve been confused, hopeless—even given up—but in the end, we keep going. We’re not even sure if we’re moving in the right direction… but still, we press on.”
He spread his hands with a touch of helplessness, delivering the line with a self-deprecating chuckle. Then, his smile slowly returned.
Curtis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sank into quiet thought.
The room fell into silence.
The air grew still without anyone noticing. It was only then that Ronan realized Cliff had been signaling him repeatedly, eyes wide and anxious.
Chapter 220: A Professional Exchange
At that moment, Ronan finally noticed Cliff frantically winking at him—anxious and tense. But Ronan wasn’t a mind reader, and he had no way of understanding what Cliff was trying to convey. All he could do was shrug at him in confusion:
What’s wrong?
Cliff felt a bit defeated. His gaze darted toward Curtis, and though he was itching to speak up, he didn’t dare break the tense silence in the room. All he could do was stew in frustration, growing increasingly annoyed at himself.
Following Cliff’s line of sight, Ronan turned his eyes to Curtis and finally snapped back to his senses. He began to study the man carefully.
Curtis was a hard-to-place figure, looking to be somewhere between his thirties and forties. His messy beard and a head full of curls covered nearly two-thirds of his face, making it nearly impossible to gauge his age—or even read his expression. Whether he was smiling or frowning was a mystery. With such a perpetually serious and unreadable demeanor, he gave off a rather intimidating air.
To make matters worse, his disheveled appearance didn’t help. He wore a plain white T-shirt, its collar and sleeves stretched out of shape, as though it had been washed countless times. There wasn’t a hint of style or care in how he presented himself.
Just from appearances alone, anyone unaware of who he really was might easily mistake him for a homeless man or someone unstable—if not for the receptionist's friendly reminder earlier.
Curtis’s silence thickened the air, making the room feel increasingly serious. Cliff finally gave up his silent tantrum, lifted his head again, and resumed desperately throwing Ronan looks—urging him to pick up the conversation that had been abruptly interrupted earlier by Ronan and Curtis’s unexpected back-and-forth.
Ronan, however, remained attuned to the subtle resonance of the piano beneath his palm. It felt as if it were communicating something. Immersed in this feeling, he completely missed Cliff’s increasingly exaggerated expressions—leaving Cliff even more exasperated.
Just as Cliff was about to break the silence himself, Curtis finally spoke.
“But with this kind of arrangement, it’ll be hard to win over the general public,” Curtis offered his opinion.
It was clear this wasn’t the final version of the arrangement. Ronan didn’t yet have a solid direction in mind, but he didn’t rush to push back. Instead, he raised his eyes, “Hmm?”
He genuinely wanted to hear professional input. After all, he was still in the learning phase when it came to composition and production. Listening to advice was a crucial part of that process.
Curtis didn’t seem to care whether Ronan agreed or not—he simply continued, “If you’re aiming to create that architectural sense of space like in Chasing the Light using strings, this version feels too thin. Chasing the Light had a simple and pure emotional core, and simplifying the arrangement made sense. But this new melody doesn’t work that way.”
He paused, then lifted his gaze. “Have you considered using electronic music in the arrangement? It could give it more of a space-opera feel—more depth and power to the melody.”
Chasing the Light had been arranged with a rich orchestral style—a classic approach. Now Curtis was suggesting electronic music, which was modern, energetic, even noisy. More importantly, it relied heavily on digital production, meaning it couldn’t be fully performed live with a traditional band setup.
These were two entirely different styles—and two very different directions for development. For a band, this would be a whole new experience. But Curtis didn’t seem to care about the band's situation or even Ronan’s thoughts. He simply laid his opinion on the table, direct and unfiltered.
Maxim’s brows furrowed slightly. He tried to imagine how the song would sound with an electronic music arrangement—but every version that popped into his head felt off. That frustration showed as his usually neat eyebrows bunched up in a tangled mess.
And Ronan?
Ronan’s eyes lit up. “Actually, I had thought about arranging the whole thing electronically, even adding turntables on stage to create a dreamy, spacey atmosphere. But I later realized it might be a case of going too far. One—it doesn’t really fit our style. And two—we’re not exactly great at DJing live. What do you think about using electronic music as a secondary voice instead?”
Electronic music fused with rock?
Thirty years ago, that would’ve been seen as selling out—something that would’ve earned scorn from every serious rock band. But times had changed. Entire genres of electro-rock had since emerged. Mega-bands like Linkin Park and Coldplay were already exploring electronic music, blending it with rap, pop, and more to create entirely new soundscapes.
From Innate to Chasing the Light to this newly finished song, One Day King’s sound leaned toward pop rock—an extension of their usual style. Ronan’s songwriting simply brought deeper, more mature emotional expression to the table.
Blending in elements like electronic or rap wasn’t strange anymore. It all came down to how the band executed the arrangement.
For Ronan personally, experimenting with new blends of musical style was a creative risk worth taking. Let’s not forget—in the musical landscape of 2020, new trends were sweeping the globe, and within Ronan lived a soul forged by that very evolution.
So of course, he was open to trying new combinations. Just as he had embraced orchestral music for Chasing the Light, he was equally open to electronic music now.
“The second voice, huh? Then what about the main voice?” Curtis was a bit surprised. Ronan hadn’t just challenged his suggestion—he’d built on it and taken it a step further. That kind of idea-sharing was exactly what Curtis lived for.
Ronan shrugged casually. “I was thinking of using the electric bass as the lead instrument to give the melody more weight. Then, layer it with electric guitar and drums to bring out the texture of the main theme.”
Maxim’s head snapped up. His eyes lit up—he played the bass, after all. And Ronan’s idea? Bold… but exciting.
Ronan scratched his head, a little sheepishly. “I’m still not totally sure. I haven’t had time to think it through. It’s just a concept for now. I only finished the song the night before last, so I haven’t had a chance to seriously sit down and think about the arrangement. I think the bass will sound great, but we’ll have to experiment a bit.”
Honest and sincere.
That was Ronan’s usual style. Even so, he already had quite a few ideas forming in his head, and he was more than happy to share them.
“Actually, I still want to create that architectural sense of space in the melody—but compared to Chasing the Light, this one is more expansive and grand. So the arrangement should be more complex, more lavish.”
Chapter 221: Rare Recognition
“…The arrangement could be more complex and elaborate.”
Ronan openly shared his thoughts. Although he didn’t yet have a detailed or systematic idea for the arrangement, he was willing to explore the topic.
“The universe?”
Curtis immediately made the connection and blurted it out. Even though Ronan hadn’t sung the lyrics, the emotion that burst forth from the melody alone was enough to make a judgment. The entire melody carried a grand, expansive feeling—its depth and vastness were awe-inspiring.
So, what if instead of a solo piano performance, a more intricate arrangement was used to highlight its layers and structure? What effect would that have?
Curtis found the idea fascinating—expressing a melody through a multidimensional, architectural sense of structure to create a unique auditory experience.
Ronan nodded in agreement. “From a lyrical standpoint, the overall theme is also grand and magnificent.”
Curtis thought for a moment. “Then we really need to consider the instrumentation carefully. Your use of strings in Chasing the Light was excellent. For this one...” Curtis was completely engrossed in his thoughts, as if he were about to start arranging with Ronan right then and there.
The professional back-and-forth was refreshingly straightforward—just honest exchange of ideas. Even Maxim couldn’t find a moment to interject, feeling a bit lost in thought, let alone the others.
Knock knock.
Just then, there was another knock at the door. Curtis didn’t even look up before shouting out bluntly, “Go away!”
The harshness stunned everyone for a moment, but the next second, the door opened anyway, and in walked Ahmet, his shiny bald head catching the light. “Working again?” he asked cheerfully, clearly unfazed by the greeting. Not only was he not offended, but he actually seemed quite friendly.
Just like at the party the other night, Ahmet’s sunny and warm demeanor made it impossible to get a read on his true thoughts.
Before Curtis could respond, Ahmet strolled in, nodded politely to Ronan with a smile, introduced himself, and greeted the band members and Alice individually. His manners were impeccable—he took command of the conversation the moment he arrived.
Curtis grumbled impatiently. “So, what do you want?”
“I do have a reason for being here.” Ahmet replied without hesitation, making Curtis falter. “Didn’t you say you wanted to meet the band? What are your thoughts?”
A screening. So it really was a screening!
Though Ahmet was subtle about it, it was clear Curtis was acting as an evaluator—digging deeper to see if the band was worth signing.
The party the other night was one thing, Ahmet’s judgment was one thing—but Curtis’s opinion today was something else entirely. Atlantic Records clearly wanted to be thorough. And that was actually a good sign—it meant they really wanted to sign them.
But for the band members, it wasn’t easy to realize all this right away. Most of them were still stuck on the surface level—
A screening?
Wait, what had they just done? Was that part of the screening? Was that okay? Did Ronan and Curtis’s conversation give anything away? Did they just waste their chance… or did they actually seize it? If they messed up, could they still recover? Or had the screening not started yet?
Now that Cliff and Maxim were catching on, their hearts were pounding with anxiety. Thoughts raced through their heads, nerves taking over, leaving them on edge.
But regret was useless now, because the initiative wasn’t in their hands. They didn’t even know when the screening had started.
Curtis didn’t answer Ahmet’s question directly. Instead, he glanced at Ronan and nodded slightly. “How many finished songs do you have right now? Ones that are at the same level as Chasing the Light?”
Whoosh—
All eyes turned to Ronan. Even though no one fully understood what was happening, the tension created a crushing sense of pressure.
“Uh… not many,” Ronan thought seriously for a moment and gave Curtis a small smile. “One hand’s worth.”
Cliff nearly collapsed. If there were ever a time to boast, this is it! He should’ve said, “Plenty—enough for a full album,” or “A lot, and they’re all high quality.” They could figure the rest out after signing. Why be so honest now? Timing is everything!
Curtis didn’t respond right away. He simply looked Ronan up and down, then turned to Ahmet and said, “Smart guy.”
Smart?
What kind of evaluation was that? Was that a good kind of smart or a bad kind?
And what about the music? Was Curtis not going to comment on the music at all?
This lack of clarity was agonizing, like being clawed at by a cat from the inside. Cliff and Maxim were going out of their minds, trying to figure out if they should speak up or stay silent. Their internal tug-of-war was intense, though no words were said. Even Ollie and Alice could sense the subtle shift in the atmosphere.
“Is there anything else?” Curtis didn’t give them time to dwell. He quickly added with irritation, “If not, then get out, will you? Ronan and I have work to do. You do realize this is a studio, right?”
Shoo. His annoyed tone sounded like he was about to roll up his sleeves for a fight.
But Ahmet knew Curtis well.
Even though Curtis hadn’t commented directly on the music, the fact that he couldn’t wait to get started with Ronan said everything that needed to be said.
Curtis was one of Atlantic Records’ top producers, as authoritative as they come. His personality? Terrible—like a rock in a toilet. But his talent was unquestionable, truly worthy of respect. Otherwise, someone so picky and difficult would’ve been kicked out of the company ages ago.
He was a dream collaborator for countless artists—both a top-tier recording engineer and producer. They called him the “Midas Touch” of Atlantic.
Yet the number of artists who could catch Curtis’s eye? You could count them on one hand.
To give you an idea—Bruno’s debut album The Ballad Chronicles from last year was produced by Curtis. Coldplay even wanted him to produce their fifth studio album, Mylo Xyloto, last year—but he turned them down.
So, even though Curtis hadn’t given any verbal confirmation, Ahmet already understood—the screening had ended, and the result was clear.
“Of course there’s something else,” Ahmet said with a smile. “I need to take the band members up to the fifth floor to sign the contract. Or… should Alice go alone?”
