Devil’s Music

"Boom!"

"Boss, is this even reasonable?!"

Lucas, who had stormed into Daniel Weiss's office since the morning, slammed documents onto the desk in frustration.

"When you said you'd change everything, I thought trying something new wouldn't hurt! But look at this list!"

Daniel Weiss took the papers handed over by Lucas, leaning back in his chair and starting to read. Lucas ranted at Daniel, who was calmly reviewing the documents.

"Monet and Van Gogh have completely different styles! Their use of colors and the refraction of light, everything is entirely different! Yet you put these two paintings side by side! And not just that, it's the same with other pieces too. Placing Van Gogh's self-portrait next to a painting of a swallow and flowers—is that sane!"

After glancing at Lucas, Daniel Weiss remained silent, flipping through the papers. Frustrated, Lucas pounded his chest, exclaiming.

"Fine, let's agree to the rearrangement! Yes, I can accept that! Try it out, and if the response isn't good, we can change it back. But look at the next page, the playlist for the music!"

Daniel Weiss skimmed through the papers after Lucas's words, his eyebrows twitching.

Lucas, bouncing around with his stout frame, replied,

"Yes! Rearrange if you must, but playing pop music, especially by a black artist like James Ingram, in our prestigious art museum! It's a matter of our museum's honor! Once tarnished, it's hard to restore!"

Daniel Weiss placed the documents on the desk and leaned against the window frame, arms folded, lost in thought. After a moment, he addressed Lucas.

"Why choose pop music?"

Frustrated, Lucas clenched his fist, saying,

"Does the reason even matter now? Our reputation has taken a hit! Reasons are irrelevant—I don't want to listen to it, and I don't care about reasons!"

Touching his chin, Daniel Weiss said,

"You didn't strike me as someone who acts without reason. Please call Abigail Cheshire. I need to ask her."

Gathering the papers from the desk, Lucas stormed out of the room, declaring,

"This! This must be stopped!"

Daniel Weiss sighed, shaking his head as he watched Lucas slam the door. A cautious knock was heard shortly after. Glancing outside the window, Daniel Weiss said,

"Come in."

As Abigail quietly entered and stood in front of the desk, Daniel Weiss spoke,

"You've been working hard. I called you because I have some questions."

As Abigail gestured with her hands, asking what the questions were, Daniel Weiss inquired,

"Our museum has traditionally selected music from classical musicians. But this time, among the chosen music, there's a pop song. Have you heard or understood Abigail, why?"

Abigail lowered her head as if guilty and replied,

"I... I tried to dissuade them, but it just seemed amusing."

Daniel Weiss asked again,

"Didn't you say something special?"

Twisting her hands, Abigail stuttered,

"I, I mentioned... the placement based on emotions, maximizing emotional impact through music. Also... that the shock conveyed through lyrics is greater than instrumental compositions."

Daniel Weiss, with a solemn look, placed a finger on his lips, lost in thought. Seeing Daniel Weiss's serious demeanor, Abigail fidgeted nervously.

After a while lost in thought, Daniel Weiss glanced at the clock on the wall. It was over 30 minutes past the opening time of 10 AM. Rising from his seat, Daniel Weiss addressed Abigail,

"Let's go to the exhibition hall. Let's see the visitors' reactions. Where are the curators?"

Standing up to not obstruct Daniel Weiss's movement, Abigail replied,

"Yes, they went to the exhibition hall this morning after reviewing the music list."

Nodding, Daniel Weiss left the room.

"Alright. Let's go see."

Passing through a long corridor designated for staff and reaching the entrance to the 19th-century European painting section, Daniel Weiss and Abigail halted their steps. Many curators were standing in front of the door leading from the staff corridor to the exhibition hall, staring outside. They looked surprised, alternating their gaze between the visitors and each other.

Realizing Daniel Weiss's appearance behind them, the curators hurriedly stepped aside. As Daniel Weiss stepped forward, he inquired,

"What's going on?"

The curators looked troubled and speechless, so Kate, dressed in a bright red dress with heavy makeup, spoke up.

"We came here today after hearing that the exhibition layout would change... but the visitors' reactions seem strange."

Daniel Weiss glanced at Kate, who was excessively made up, and asked,

"What's so unusual?"

Kate, looking puzzled as it was hard to explain, gestured with both hands towards the exhibition hall.

"It's better if you see it for yourself."

Daniel Weiss observed Kate for a moment before stepping out of the door. The staff entrance led to the 19th-century European painting section. As they entered the gallery, a sign caught Daniel Weiss's eye.

'Pleasure.'

Daniel Weiss entered the exhibition hall, perplexed by the unfamiliar signposts. Inside, families roamed, children who typically darted around were now gathered before the paintings, giggling and pointing excitedly while engaging in conversations with their parents. The parents, too, wore bright expressions as they interacted with their children.

Daniel observed these visitors for a moment before being drawn to the music playing softly enough not to disturb. "Beethoven's Symphony 'Choral.' A great choice," he thought. "If all the emotions depicted in these artworks align with joy, as he claimed, then there couldn't be a better selection."

He glanced around and moved to the next exhibition hall. Here, fewer people were present, mainly middle-aged women and men impeccably attired, a stark contrast to the previous crowd. "What's this?" Daniel questioned, noticing a banner hanging from the ceiling: "Longing."

He turned, surveying the expressions of the attendees. An elderly woman stood before a painting, her eyes misty, dabbing tears with a handkerchief. While it wasn't uncommon for viewers to be moved by art, what struck Daniel was the incredible length of time they spent in front of each painting.

"Ten minutes to look at one piece? Unbelievable," he marveled, observing the audience's prolonged contemplation.

Moving through the halls, he paid attention to the faint music playing. "Schubert, right? The piece that goes, 'Only those who understand longing can understand my anguish,' I believe."

Approaching the final hall marked "Farewell," he found a scene unlike any before. James Ingram's rendition of 'Just Once' played a bit louder, and many attendees either shed tears or held them back. Amidst them, someone sat quietly in a corner—Geon.

Surprised, Daniel approached. Geon, seated against the wall to avoid interfering with others' viewing, was keenly observing the reactions of the audience. Watching him, Daniel thought, "Professor Leontine Price was right. A genius."

Approaching Geon, Daniel extended a hand. Geon, startled, rose quickly, returning the gesture.

"Daniel Weiss, nice to see you," Daniel smiled widely, shaking Geon's hand.

"Haha, it's really surprising, Mr. Geon. Even without analyzing the duration visitors spend at each painting, it's evident you've succeeded," Daniel chuckled.

Geon scratched his cheek, smiling. "Oh, I'm glad you liked it. I was worried about the music causing a commotion."

"Great song choice. But Mr. Kim, why the theme 'Farewell' for this last hall, and why opt for pop music as the soundtrack?" Daniel inquired.

"Mr. Weiss, do you also think only classical music embodies high-class taste?" Geon chuckled, waving his hand as if dismissing something.

"Well, yes. Music should be tailored to evoke emotions in the listener. 'Farewell' harbors a profound sadness among human emotions. To magnify that, I chose music with direct lyrics over instrumental pieces," Geon explained.

Nodding in agreement, Daniel acknowledged, "That's a great insight, Mr. Kim. Who was the teacher imparting such wisdom? Professor Price, perhaps?"

Geon smiled, looking at the paintings, John Lennon's face overlapping with them as if from a dream. And, as if hearing Lennon's voice from that dream, Daniel heard, "Music that disregards the listener is just a feast for a few critics. Music dates back to primitive drums, created for celebrating the end of a hunt or mourning the dead. Music made without considering the listener is garbage."

Geon, momentarily lost in thought, then took Daniel's hand, bursting into a hearty laugh.

>

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