Reset Life with Infinite Talents - Chapter 34

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Infinite Talent Reset Life Episode 34

 

 

”Will you be okay?”

Larry makes a worried expression.

Johann had suddenly developed a fever that evening after returning from the flea market and suffered for a whole day.

Because of this, Larry couldn’t even go to work, and Johann couldn’t go to school either.

Fortunately, this morning, Tuesday, he had recovered as if nothing had happened, but Larry couldn’t help but worry.

“I’m fine!”

‘It was because of the mental shock.’

He had wanted to think of it as just a happening, but that wasn’t the case.

“This is protecting me.”

Johann shows the wolf ring on his index finger and the lucky bracelet on his wrist.

“And this too.”

Johann pulls out a forearm-length metal rod from the front pocket of his guitar case slung over his back.

The spear shaft he had to bring without the spear head due to Larry’s fierce opposition. When combined, it would be as long as his current height, and it was a proper item.

‘It’s unfortunate, but I couldn’t find more.’

Besides the authentic items he bought from the two people, he couldn’t find any more authentic items. There wasn’t enough time to look around all 1,100 booths.

He would have to aim for next time.

“Sigh. Alright. Call me if anything happens.”

“Okay!”

Johann waves to Larry and heads up to the building behind him.

“…”

What is this mess?

Johann blinks as he finds Smithington’s Studio.

“Oh, baby-.”

“Mmm. Mother.”

Black people sprawled on the carpet and sofa, and the pungent smell of alcohol. The sight of them embracing each other and stroking backs blows away the warm memories from last night.

“Hehehe.”

There’s also a zombie. A zombie called Bruno Mars, moving his waist back and forth while looking at a laptop with bloodshot eyes.

‘What is that guy watching from morning?’

“Gene, even if morning is the most energetic time…”

“Hm? You came at the right time, Johann! Look at this…”

Bruno Mars turns pale seeing the state of the studio.

“Wait! Close your eyes!”

‘Too late.’

But he closes his eyes anyway.

Crash! Rustle! Rustle!

“Ahem. It’s, it’s done.”

‘…What’s the difference?’

The scene hasn’t changed except for covering the team members and bottles with blankets.

“It’s, it’s not like this every day. So, um…”

He wishes Johann wouldn’t look at him so pathetically.

“Don’t you go back to the dorm?”

“Where’s the time for that.”

‘Dream – Journey on a Ship’ has been spreading by word of mouth on SoundCloud, and work is pouring in.

Most requests are limited to folk rock and country rock, but compared to not long ago when they could barely work on a few songs a month, this was just happy complaining.

“It’s all thanks to you.”

“…”

What is this person talking about?

If he had created the framework, it was Bruno Mars and Team Smithingtons who put flesh and skin on it.

“I’ll take it as modesty.”

“Haha! Hm? But why are you here at this time?”

“I was sick and absent, but I’m fine now. Really.”

“…Ah! Look at the view count here!”

‘Is he asking me to watch porn together?’

With that thought, Johann quietly moves to his side.

Porn that he’s seeing as a video for the first time.

And he’s surprised.

“Hehe. You’re surprised too, right?”

“…What is it?”

It’s not porn, it’s SoundCloud.

But the view count and download numbers are unusual.

“Right. You can’t help but be surprised! Downloads increased by a whopping 5,000!”

‘Who posted it on SNS again?’

The view count had exploded after Joe Walsh, whom he was supposed to meet next week for modeling work, posted on SNS, then dropped sharply from this week as if everyone who would listen had already listened.

But the view count was exploding again.

What’s more surprising is that judging from the comment reactions, most of the newly inflowed people are Hispanics who usually only listen to Latin music.

“You don’t know Spanish, right? I’ll read…”

“No. I can do it.”

“Ah, you can?”

Johann nods and reads the comments.

 

Found a good song to listen to after a long time.

A song that reminds me of childhood.

I heard this song at an H&M store?

Isn’t this coming out as a music source?

Why does only this song have high views? Isn’t there anyone to tell me?

 

They’re all full of praise. But somehow they seem like ordinary people rather than music industry officials.

‘The only Hispanic I know is Julio…’

Julio Rodriguez, a friend he made on Saturday.

‘Could he have spread the word?’

It seems like he should contact him.

“Sigh. But it’s still disappointing.”

“Hm?”

“I wonder how nice it would be if this were the download number for music sources.”

Rocky Management’s sales power, which couldn’t break through major music streaming sites or blogs, feels disappointing.

“Actually, they’re arriving tomorrow.”

“Really?”

The planning team, a department newly organized by Larry.

It’s a team that will be in charge of overall planning, such as thinking about the artist’s direction together and then finding or producing songs that fit the concept.

“They plan to take over some of the work that the sales team was handling, and someone who worked at a record company in New York will be the team leader.”

“New, New York?!”

New York, where major and super-major record companies are gathered.

Instantly, Bruno Mars’s body heats up.

‘Am I going to make it big?’

The lava of the two words “success” is about to pour out of his throat.

“Ah, but what did you come here for?”

If he was sick, wouldn’t it be better to rest?

“I made a song on Saturday, so I was wondering if I could borrow some instruments…”

I need to add instruments to ‘Little Wolves’.

“Oh! What kind of song is it this time? No, first let me call…”

Bruno Mars, who was speaking, closes his mouth.

The state of the studio isn’t fit for doing anything.

“…Little Jefferson, do you absolutely have to add a session today?”

“Not… really?”

It doesn’t matter if it’s not today right away.

“You’re not feeling sick or anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Then let’s go out!”

I need to resolve this emotion that might explode if I stay still.

“Where to?”

“The ocean!”

‘The ocean?!’

Johann’s eyes lit up.

 

* * *

 

Whoooosh!

Under the blue sky with white clouds floating, the blue ocean pushed by the wind creates pure white foam.

The golden beach tempts you to come and play.

“This is the ocean…?”

Actually seeing the ocean for the first time.

The open view and the salty smell brushing past my nose, the cry of seagulls piercing my ears, people walking around with carefree faces and people enjoying swimming in bikinis, surfers riding waves, people sitting in bars tilting beer bottles – all pleasantly overwhelming my senses.

Rattle! Clack!

‘Skateboard.’

My eyes follow a person on a skateboard that I saw at Larry’s house.

‘Why am I only coming here now?’

Venice Beach, located not far from Sunset Boulevard.

Regret brushes across my chest.

“Even if you like the girls in bikinis, you can’t do catcalling. That’s rude, you perverted Jefferson.”

“…Wait, take off your sunglasses for a moment. It’s okay. I won’t hit you.”

Let’s see if he can still say that with his sunglasses off.

Bruno Mars, whose eyes are obviously rolling around behind his sunglasses.

“Hehe. Let’s go! This way!”

‘Where to again?’

Following Bruno Mars, at some point I start hearing singing.

‘It’s not just one person.’

This song, that song – various songs mix together and shake my ears.

Songs so strange they’re painful to listen to, and songs full of soul too.

People of various skin colors stand on the street playing instruments and singing, and passersby stop for a moment to watch them.

Some pass by as if uninterested, while others put money into boxes placed in front of the instrument players.

That sight, the air clinging to my whole body is as hot as a huge campfire burning on a midsummer night. Hot enough to make me want to jump right in and feel the same thing.

‘Where is this place?’

Where exactly is this that it’s so hot from a weekday morning?

No, I know. I know what this place is for, and what Bruno Mars is about to do.

“Keke. So you can make that kind of expression too?”

Well, if you’re not enchanted by this air, this atmosphere, can you really say you love music?

“Home sweet home. Welcome to my hometown, Little Jefferson.”

A languid smile spread across Bruno Mars’ lips.

 

Meanwhile, at that moment.

Two old men entering the entrance of Venice Beach stop walking.

“This is LA’s greatest treasure trove. Hmm…”

A bald black man passes by in front of them.

The old men look at each other.

“Why did we come to a place like this? I’m at an age where even getting up from the sofa is hard.”

“That’s exactly why we need to move.”

And enjoy this youth.

“Who knows? Maybe we can get a little younger?”

“You still believe in that kind of superstition?”

“If you don’t like it, you can choose.”

Whether to drink beer watching TV in a house reeking of old man smell.

Or drink martinis while listening to the busking of amateurs who have fun even when they make mistakes at Venice Beach full of youthful passion.

“Tsk. What a nasty old man.”

With that kind of choice, isn’t the decision already made?

The old men laughed and grumbled as they delved into Venice Beach.

 

* * *

 

This person is different, and that person is different.

Their skin color, age, songs, emotions.

And when two people standing apart have their songs overlap, they smile and add harmony. Their appearance enjoying this moment pounds my heart.

‘How much do they love music?’

Just how much do they love it to express themselves so freely like this?

To desperately cry out for people to listen to my song, my performance?

“This spot looks good.”

Bruno Mars suddenly stops.

He sets up the woofer he brought and quietly looks at Johann, and Johann understands what he’s about to say.

“…You want to do busking?”

Busking – in modern times, it refers to the act of those who purely enjoy performing playing music on the streets.

‘You want me to sing in front of these people?’

My body gets hot. My hands tremble.

“What? Are you scared?”

“…No way.”

This is the situation I’ve been hoping for since entering this street.

If I was afraid of people, I wouldn’t have come down from the Rocky Mountains.

Besides, busking – this is also a first experience.

‘What kind of memories will I make here, what kind of emotions will I feel?’

Johann, unable to hold back any longer, grabbed the zipper of his guitar case.

 

* * *

 

“Ha!”

A man walking along the streets of Venice Beach suddenly bursts out laughing.

“Hahaha!”

“Let’s go check that out!”

“Is it delicious?”

The streets of Venice Beach full of happiness, laughter, and leisure.

‘I feel like I’m dying, so why do they look so happy?’

Unlike himself who was recently fired, do they have jobs? Do their girlfriends with linked arms not cheat on them?

Do their sons holding hands and laughing not rebel against them?

‘How annoying.’

He’s envious.

And frustrated.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell them he’d been fired, so he left the house, but even Venice Beach, which he’d sought out to get some relief from his suffocating feelings, made him want to run away.

He wanted to rest somewhere no one would look for him.

‘Let’s get out of here quickly.’

He should drink beer somewhere quiet.

It was just as he was quickening his pace.

-Everything will be alright. Even when waves crash. Even when wind blows.

‘I can move forward. I can go anywhere.’

The upbeat folk rock with not-so-upbeat lyrics captures his feet.

Without realizing it, he pushes through between the people forming a semicircle.

An Asian kid holding an acoustic guitar and a Latin youth tapping a machine with 20 square buttons.

Ding-a-ling!

“Wooow!”

Clap clap clap clap clap!

“Dream—a journey departing by boat. I hope it becomes a pleasant journey for everyone.”

“Wheeek!”

“That was great!”

“Haha. Then next, we’ll take requests!”

“…Rihanna!”

“Coldplay!”

“Midnight Train to Georgia!”

“Oh. Those are all songs that were popular last year! Little Jefferson, can you handle it?”

“No problem?”

“Haha! Okay! Led Zeppelin!”

The Asian kid who had a blank expression for a moment picks up the electric guitar placed beside him.

And…

Zing zing, zi-zing! Zing zing, zi-zing!

“My goodness.”

What was he witnessing right now?

Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song, which no American could fail to recognize.

The intense guitar riff that hit you over the head pouring from the young child’s short hands, and the drum beat that followed, made him momentarily forget everything.

 

* * *

 

“Wheek! Wheeek!”

Pouring cheers.

Johann wipes the sweat flowing down his face.

‘So this is how it feels.’

Every expression, every clap, even the couple suddenly kissing.

Every cell awakens to all the forms of praise they send. His whole body tingles.

A feeling of fullness in his chest.

‘I think I could get addicted to this.’

So this is why people sing.

So this is why they want to become popular.

He comes to realize it.

“Excuse me… please drink this.”

“Haha! Thank you!”

“That was a wonderful song. You could be a singer, you know?”

“Thank you.”

Bruno Mars pokes Johann’s side as he holds an armful of things to eat and drink—water, juice, chocolate bars, and such.

“How about it, Little Jefferson. Isn’t it killer?”

“…Yes.”

A brief break time. He feels even more regret watching the reluctant footsteps of people dispersing.

He drinks the water he prepared in advance and looks around. Even if given with good intentions, eating something from strangers is taboo. He deliberately ignores the chocolate bar.

“Wait here. I’ll go buy something to eat… Huh?”

A bald black man in his 40s wearing a suit approaches them.

“I enjoyed your singing and performance. You two shone the brightest here in Venice today.”

“Haha. Not at all.”

“I’m this kind of person.”

Bruno Mars freezes upon seeing the business card he extends.

Johann, who had stood on his tiptoes wondering what was happening, also opens his eyes wide.

WARNER MUSIC GROUP.

It was Warner Music Group, America’s representative music and entertainment company that controlled numerous record labels.

“Would you happen to be interested in becoming singers?”

“Holy fucking shit?”

It was a natural exclamation.

 

Being stunned was only momentary.

Bruno Mars hardens his expression and returns the business card.

“Sorry, but I’m already affiliated with a place.”

‘Oh?’

The surprised Johann also shakes his head at the bald black man’s gaze.

“Hmm. That’s unfortunate. But keep it anyway. We’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well then.”

As the bald black man leaves, Bruno Mars’s body sways.

“Are you okay?”

“…You must be a rabbit’s foot.”

A rabbit’s foot, symbol of good luck.

Despite countless busking sessions, he’d never received casting before, but as soon as he teamed up with Johann, he got cast by one of America’s Big Four record companies.

And not by a subsidiary label, but by Warner Music Group headquarters itself.

Plus all the requests that had been pouring in since working on songs with Johann.

“Aren’t you disappointed?”

Johann asks with a smile.

But his eyes aren’t smiling.

Not noticing this, Bruno Mars looks in the direction where the bald black man disappeared.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. But I can’t betray Rocky.”

Rocky Management had done so much for them. Even if he were to leave, he’d leave after his contract ended.

“I’m sure my friends feel the same way.”

“…You really are a good person. I’m relieved.”

It was at that moment.

“Excuse me, are you taking requests?”

“Yes! Of course…”

Bruno Mars freezes again.

Johann’s eyes widen again too.

One old man tips his hat slightly with a mischievous expression while another old man watches with eyes full of amusement.

“Hello, my young fan?”

Joe Walsh.

His sudden appearance alone is enough to take one’s breath away, but seeing the old man beside him makes Bruno Mars’s legs go weak again.

“Hmm. Do I look that scary? Ah, thank you for singing our song so wonderfully.”

An old man with long white curly hair casually tied back.

“J-Jimmy Page…!”

The owner of the Immigrant Song they just sang, the guitarist of Led Zeppelin.

One of the greatest guitarists in history, a living legend – Jimmy Page.

Time stopped.

 

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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