In 2120, a sound engineer named Ricci von der Leyen accidentally invented the Sonus Reactor. This unstable music reactor harnessed the sun's power. Von der Leyen was part of the Alnilam Research Group—scientists dedicated to improving humanity’s chances in space. The history of the Sonus Reactor is not a fairy tale. Von der Leyen expresses the danger that she exposed herself just to gather magnetic dust from Jupiter’s storm or a piece of diamond from Saturn’s eternal rain of minerals—it was an intergalactic adventure. However, the reactor imploded, and its energy spread throughout Earth, giving people the power of music. The incident is known as the Sonus Fallout, and that event's effect changed the course of humanity for good.
Well, that is an insanely informative text. I close the Sonus University app as I return to the real world. Everyone in the class is quiet. Silence descends in the entire room, full of students who appear as if they all have something to say.
To my left are the windows—covered with gray curtains—closed because of the air-conditioning system. There were six columns of desks arranged semi-circularly descending on one side of the lecture stage. Each column contains six rows of desks.
The desks were made of lacquered birch—carved into their surface are scores of musical pieces, which hid under the lacquer. My desk has Für Elise cut on it. The Beethoven original is probably the most abused classical piece, which has become a staple of pop culture.
The floors are carpeted with crimson rugs, even under the desks. The most outstanding music university in the world can afford to cover every floor surface with fluffy, faux fur rugs. The pitch-black ceiling absorbs all excessive light in the lecture room, bestowing it a theatrical ambiance—only the stage is lit, and the audience and the orchestra are in the dark.
As my gaze turns to my classmates, I notice a pattern in their outfits. A couple of students had long white sleeves, a triangular yellow cape, and black edges fixed by a green rose. Words are embroidered on the longer side of the isosceles, “Orden der Rosenritter.”
They must be freshmen from the Orden der Rosenritter department. What are they called again, squires? My gaze moves to an ebony-skinned girl and a blond boy who wore—what could be considered underwear. The girl is in a corset, overlaying a short cocktail dress with red bellows on its skirt—imitating a rose. The descending neckline of the boy’s white garment reveals his belly button and part of his left breast. A chest pocket carries a rose—freshly picked from somewhere. Are they from…that’s it…the Academy of Occult Songs, known for their progressive and otherworldly views on various aspects, especially pleasure.
Winged headbands—must be from the Valhallan Conservatory. Violin bows on their back, as if it is a weapon like a sword—the School of String Theorists. Colorful jackets and various styles—the Studio of Pop. A robe resembling a sacristan’s robe—the School of Sacred Songs.
I look around the sea of faces—some looking forward to the board, others fixating on the screens of their iPad—only to find one familiar face behind me. Oh, it’s the sound engineering guy who helped me this morning.
He wore a formal long white sleeve with a golden and silver necktie—the one he wore this morning.
“Hey, remember me?” I whisper out to him, which he fails to hear. I crumple a piece of paper and hurl it at his face. It landed on his desk, and now I got his full attention. “Remember me?” I whisper quietly but loud enough that he can hear my voice two seats apart. “It’s me, Ian. I can’t believe we are in the same class.”
“You’re the guy who forgot his ID card and went in late in the freshman orientation—how can I forget?” he says, soft enough to not disturb the room's quietness. “This is Music History. What do you—"
“Okay, class,” Antoine interrupts their conversation, “does anyone have thoughts on the text you just read?”
When Antoine dropped the last word, all hands were raised. Except for mine, which is totally embarrassing. Even Timothy raised his. Everybody has something to say to this Ricci girl.
“You,” Antoine points to Timothy.
“Ricci von der Leyen is a woman of unparalleled genius. She invented the machine that harnesses the sun's power while taking advantage of the vibrations that create music,” he stands up as he answers. “Ms. Von der Leven should be an inspiration to us all.”
Clamors begin to fill the lecture hall environment.
A girl in front answered with being called, “Ricci von der Leyen is smart, but she was too smart for her own good, too smart for everybody’s good. The effect of her experiments changed how humans lived. The Sonus Fallout caused the extinction of multiple animal and plant species. She is not a genius that should be admired. She is a genius that should be remembered for her genocidal tendencies.”
“Hear, hear,” students who agreed with her point murmur in the background.
“I disagree,” another girl at the back end replies. All eyes and chairs turned to her as she spoke. “While it is true that the Sonus Fallout caused the extinction of multiple organisms, the nuclear fallout and irresponsible and irreparable human actions before the Sonus Fallout contributed to their extinction. Ricci von der Leyen gave humanity another chance, another beacon of hope in a world destroyed by hate and discord. She gave us a song, a harmony we must always protect and cherish.”
“Hear, hear,” Timothy, along with others, say.
“’ A song? A harmony that we must always protect and cherish?’,” a boy who imitates a puking drunkard commands attention. “Humanity has always been the same—there is order and violence—but Von der Leyen caused that balance to descend into chaos. With our Sonus Stones, criminals have supernatural powers that our law enforcement has a difficult time fighting against—”
“Criminal activity in our current time is irrelevant to Ricci von der Leyen’s legacy,” another boy interrupts him while speaking. “Crimes are a result of the state and society’s internal machinations. It is the current state’s fault that some people are driven to do bad things—”
“These criminals can possess the bodies of law enforcement and perform acts that harm the very shield that protects us from them, and you call it irrelevant?” the boy regains control.
“Our law enforcement has the same power. They can stop them.”
What began as a simple question-and-answer discussion turned into a heated debate. I watched as one side the other side. There was a third side calling for the good while acknowledging the bad, but both vilified it. The scene of pro-von der Leyen and anti-von der Leyen debate is everywhere. It’s in the news—anchors representing the two sides debate what should be better—even the news networks themselves are on a particular side. The current parliament—is split between the pro-von der Leyen Harmony Party and the anti-von der Leyen Conservative Party.
If only I had some popcorn. I feel extreme amusement seeing people debate and fight—not in a wrong and evil way. I hate fights, but the one before me is worth watching. I hope someone raps like Boris Johnson, an early 21st-century prime minister of the United Kingdom—that would be a spectacle.
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“The Sonus System destroyed the pillars that kept the unjust and unfair norms of the old society. It paved the way for real change to come and sweep across what remains of the human civilization,” a girl wearing a winged-headband which held her long glorious blond slams the desk rendering the room quiet as she gains attention. “In the old world, women were seen as inferior to men, but now the current system has made it so that both men and women are equal in footing.”
“While I do agree that men and women possess equal rights and freedoms in all existing parts of the human civilization, might I remind the honorable lady from the Valhallan Conservatory that what’s left of the human civilization is about 20% of the world population before the fallout,” a lad with a triangular cape answer. He flicks his cape back as he pauses. “88% of the world’s surface is uninhabitable, and we are left scrambling for what little resources are left. The disparity between rich and poor has also become greater compared to the old world. Ten people control and own 99% of the world’s total remaining economic resources—just how great is this kind of change?”
“They favor the change because they benefit from it,” the ebony-skinned gal blurts out of the blue. “The Valhallan Conservatory receives donations from the Genial Dix.”
“That’s enough,” Antoine tries to diffuse the heated argument, but his voice is not enough. He grabs a mallet from inside a cabinet and bangs the desktop. “I said enough,” silence follows his stern command.
My eye turns to the blond boy who emphasized Von der Leyen’s role in increasing criminal activity. He looks at the other black boy, who replies that crimes are due to state action, and gives him the tongue and eye bat combo. This infuriates the boy, who grabs his ukulele and calls forth the power of his Sonus Stone. The air inside the room focuses on a single point and strikes the blond boy, hurling him to the far wall. His friends avenged him using their powers to avenge their fallen ally.
At this point, Antoine can no longer stop the fight. He uses a harp and summons the power of the blank resonance, but the degree of chaos is too much for him. I saw him leave the room hurriedly, moving to the left.
I moved to the front of the classroom. I would have been caught in the crossfire if I had stayed in my seat—in the middle of the crowd. Timothy is in the left part of the classroom. He uses an EDM board to channel his powers. Sound Engineers can amplify or strengthen the effects of other Sonus Stones or suppress or weaken them. There were also Sound Engineers on the other side. Together, they reduced each other’s blows, making sure that the classroom did not get destroyed because of this chaos. Or, at least, that’s how I liked to think about what they were doing.
Water, fire, air, lightning, rose petals, metal, and wood flew indiscriminately at each other. Swathes of light and shadow sprinkle over both sides. Mystic vibrations pulsated but were greatly weakened because of the Sound Engineers. Suddenly, the air became heavy, and everyone’s powers became sluggish. A soothing sound surreptitiously surrounds the crowd. It feels like being in a garden with lotuses, experiencing Zen.
“That ought to calm things down,” a female professor with black bob-cut hair graced the room with her presence and her harp, which she placed on the front table. She continued to play the mellow melody of her song, which calmed my heart and soul. “Duo des fleurs from Lakmé by Leo Delibes. This song contains and relaxes the heart, body, and soul.”
“I’ll treat you to that Korean restaurant for your help,” Antoine murmurs behind her with a straight face. He steps forward-moving past the table. His eyes darted from Timothy’s side, where I was, to the other group. “Okay, who instigated this conflict?”
Not a single soul answered. I see the doubt and regret in their eyes. The blooming intent of apology to the people they have wronged. Their eyes scramble—searching for someone who can take the fall—who will have the courage to tell the truth and create an enemy of those they would incriminate? Humanity has grown for centuries, will its growth shine through here?
“It was Timothy who started the fight. He started it with the guy with a blank resonance,” the blond-haired boy pointed Timothy and me out. He fixes the hems of his long white sleeves as he finishes speaking. His blue tie indicates that he’s a freshman like me. Still, the Sonus Stone hanging from his left pocket says he is from the Eb resonance department—the Academy of Occult Songs. His green irises bloom as he gives me a side-eye. His long black slacks and black Italian leather shows sandwiches on his white socks. So, it seems humanity will never be righteous at any age. Aristotle and Obama would be disappointed. “I saw them conversing while you were discussing before the brawl, professor.”
“Is this true, Timothy, Ian?” Antoine turns to us, begging me to say that it was not true—and it wasn’t. “Did you instigate the fight?”
“No, professor.” Timothy butted in before I could find the words to say. “The person who accuses us of this madness is the one who began the fight himself.”
“Lies,” the blond boy stomps the wooden-tiled floor polished with linoleum, but the impact bounces off because of the fluffy rug. “That is what a liar would say.”
“There’s only one way to find out then,” the female professor begins a mystical chant. A blob of water appears before her, shifting into a flat disc-shaped surface. It became utterly still like a mirror, but its essence and the incessant shimmering soft sound it makes—a constant B6, which sounds like beating a wine glass with a fork but serene and soothing—distinguishes it from an ordinary mirror. “Reflections of water which can see beyond time. What happened here?”
The mirror plays a sonata of harps and soprano voices so loud that the entire classroom felt filled with them. The professor snatched a thin string from her pocket—it was too far for me to clearly see what it was. She places it inside the mirror, and everything that has happened is recalled by the mirror.
“It was you who did it, after all, Mr. Ronstadt.” The water mirror that revealed the past dispels, leaving steam of white air utterly evaporating in seconds. Reaching her hand, the blond boy’s Sonus Stone flings to the professor’s right hand. “Proceed to the guidance counselor’s office and your dean’s office for disciplinary action. As for the rest of you, the guidance counselor will have a word.”
“Appreciate the help, Dr. Rusalka,” Antoine curtsies as she exits. But as she stepped out, the girl from Ronstadt’s group grabbed her microphone and rapped. Sound waves emanate throughout the classroom dispelling the effects of Duo des fleurs. “Should have seen this coming.”
Antoine jumped and knocked the girl unconscious before she could do any more damage. Her black hair dangles from her back which leans against Antoine’s arms. Her colorful jacket spoke volumes of her department—the most contrast to Dr. Rusalka’s Gb/F# resonance, which is C—the Studio of Pop.
Destructive interference is when two different sound waves cancel each other out. In the Sonus Resonance, the position in the Circle of Fifths chart determines the key with the highest destructive interference. Dr. Rusalka, the Dean of the Chamber of Harps and Arias, has a Gb/F# resonance. Its exact opposite in the Circle of Fifths is C—explaining why the girl quickly blew her high-level spell.
“I will escort Mr. Ronstadt and Ms. Beaumont to the guidance counselor’s office,” Antoine declares, carrying unconscious Ms. Beaumont in his arms. “Class is dismissed for today.”
“You saved me,” I tap Timothy’s shoulder as we descended the linoleum-polished fir stairs. “I thought I was done for. I still can’t believe they would try to pin the blame on me—when I didn’t really do anything. I just watched as you started a world war—a lecture room war, to be exact.”
“The truth always sets us free,” Timothy laughs as we both step on the diamond-styled wooden-tiled landing. “People tend to be discriminatory towards people with a blank Sonus Resonance. If this was in the old world, it would have equated to racism or sexism, but now this kind of bigotry exists, and it must not be allowed to foster.”
Racism and sexism—the two pettiest problems that afflicted the old world. Now it’s against people like me. Is there a human tendency to be cruel to people who are different or out of the norm? Timothy taps my shoulder as he notices me staring blankly ahead. We reached the grand foyer of Skybeat Tower after descending the left staircase. The number of people on the ground floor suggests that the word of the ‘lecture room war’ has spread like wildfire, blazing gloriously before people would realize it. I should probably get out of here before people try to shift the story.
I suddenly feel a hand behind my shoulder pulling me to the side entrance. It was Timothy.
“Ignore the crowd,” he whispers as he pushes me to the side exit. We go down the cobblestone stairs and run to the thin groves beside the circling road. “Word spreads fast here in SU and so do rumors. People, especially the ones close to the guilty party, will try to pin the blame on you. But those who were in the scene will do the right thing, I’m sure of it.”
“I appreciate your concern, Timothy.” My right hand automatically scratched my right occipital, as if I felt embarrassed but it in a fuzzy way.
“If anyone bothers you, don’t hesitate to call me,” he hands a piece of paper that contained his contact details—from his phone number to his emails, even personal ones. “Anyway, I must get going. My degree isn’t going to work for itself. See you around.”
“See you,” I wave goodbye as I grab my smartphone and register his contact details.