The rest of the school day was a strange performance. Alex, the 25-year-old music professional trapped in a 15-year-old's body, went through the motions of sophomore classes. He answered questions in history with a knowledge that unnerved his teacher (his past self had apparently been a C-student in that subject), doodled chord progressions instead of algebra equations, and observed his peers with a detached fascination. The way they talked, dressed, interacted – it was like watching a well-produced period drama he was inexplicably starring in.
The [Maestro's Codex] remained a subtle hum in the background of his mind, accessible with a thought. During a particularly dull biology lecture on photosynthesis, he'd delved into the production notes for "Thinking Out Loud" again, committing mic placements and specific reverb decays to memory. His own, original-timeline fifteen-year-old self had a decent acoustic guitar gathering dust in the corner of his room and a basic laptop with a pirated, rudimentary version of a DAW (Digital Audio Workstation). Not ideal, but a start.
When he got home, the house was quiet. His mom was at her book club, his dad working late. Perfect.
He headed straight for his old room, the faded band posters judging him. The guitar, a Yamaha acoustic, was indeed there, strings dull with neglect. He tuned it, his fingers, despite their youthful smoothness, remembering the feel. The System could display chord charts and tablature, but for a song like "Thinking Out Loud," he barely needed it. It was etched into his musical soul.
He sat on the edge of his bed, the unfamiliar weight of the guitar surprisingly comforting. He took a deep breath, then let his fingers find the opening G chord. The notes, a little tinny on the old strings, resonated in the quiet room.
"When your legs don't work like they used to before
And I can't sweep you off of your feet
Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love
Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks…"
His voice, higher than he was used to, still had a decent tone. Raw, untrained at this age perhaps, but the inherent musicality was there. He sang softly, eyes closed, picturing the arrangement, the subtle drums, the soaring strings he knew should accompany it. He let the song flow, verse by verse, chorus by chorus. The melody, so globally beloved in his timeline, felt both alien and intimately familiar coming from his own lips in this silent room.
"...And darling I will be loving you 'til we're 70
And baby my heart could still fall as hard at 23
And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe just the touch of a hand
Oh me I fall in love with you every single day
And I just wanna tell you I am
So honey now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Place your head on my beating heart
I'm thinking out loud
Maybe we found love right where we are
When my hair's all but gone and my memory fades
And the crowds don't remember my name
When my hands don't play the strings the same way, mm
I know you will still love me the same
'Cause honey your soul can never grow old, it's evergreen
Baby your smile's forever in my mind and memory
I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe it's all part of a plan
I'll just keep on making the same mistakes
Hoping that you'll understand
But baby now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Place your head on my beating heart
I'm thinking out loud
That maybe we found love right where we are, oh
So baby now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Oh darling, place your head on my beating heart
I'm thinking out loud
That maybe we found love right where we are
Oh baby, we found love right where we are (maybe)
And we found love right where we are"
When he finished the final C/G chord, a strange feeling settled over him. It wasn't just singing a cover. It was like breathing life into a beautiful ghost.
His laptop was an old Dell. Booting it up took an eternity. He found the ancient copy of "Audacity" – more a simple editor than a full DAW – and a trial version of something called "Mixcraft" he vaguely remembered dabbling with. Primitive tools compared to his 2025 setup, but enough for a decent demo.
For the next few hours, Alex worked with a focused intensity that would have baffled his 2015 parents. He used his phone's microphone (surprisingly not terrible for basic acoustic capture in a quiet room), propping it up with textbooks. He laid down the main guitar track for "Thinking Out Loud," then a simpler bass line played on the lower strings of his acoustic, planning to process it later to sound more like an actual bass. He even attempted to tap out a gentle rhythm on his desk for a guide drum track.
The Codex provided constant, silent assistance. When he wondered about a specific harmony Ed Sheeran had used in the bridge, a quick mental query brought up the vocal score. When he was unsure how best to capture the warmth of the acoustic with his limited setup, the System offered suggestions for mic proximity and rudimentary EQ within Audacity's capabilities. It wasn't doing the work for him, but it was the ultimate, omniscient collaborator.
By the time his mom came home, he had a rough, but undeniably compelling, demo of "Thinking Out Loud." The vocals were a bit reedy, the "drums" were laughable, but the song itself – its structure, its melody, its heart – shone through.
"Alex? What's that lovely sound?" his mom called from downstairs.
He quickly saved the project, a thrill mixed with apprehension coursing through him. He went down, guitar still in hand. "Just… messing around with an idea, Mom."
She smiled. "That was beautiful. Did you write that?"
Alex froze. The question hung in the air. This was it. The first lie. The first act of… musical plagiarism across timelines? What else could he say? That a disembodied System fed him hit songs from a parallel future?
"Yeah," he said, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "Yeah, just something I've been working on."
His mom's eyes widened slightly, a spark of pride in them he hadn't seen directed at his musical efforts in… well, in this timeline, ever. "Alex, that's… that's really good. Like, really good. Your father needs to hear this."
Later that evening, David Vance sat in his armchair, looking tired from work, as Alex, with no small amount of trepidation, played "Thinking Out Loud" live on his acoustic guitar. He sang it with more confidence this time, the earlier recording session having boosted his familiarity.
When he finished, his father was silent for a long moment, just looking at him. Not with disappointment, or the usual mild tolerance for his "noise," but with a kind of stunned surprise.
"Where," David finally asked, his voice careful, "did that come from, Alex?"
"Just… an idea I had," Alex repeated, trying to sound nonchalant.
His father leaned forward. "An idea? Alex, that's not just 'an idea.' That's… that's a proper song. A hit song, even. I don't know much about music, but I know what sounds good." He ran a hand over his chin. "You've always tinkered, but this is… different."
This was his chance. The opening. Alex took a breath. "Dad… I have a lot of these ideas. A lot of songs. I think… I think they could be something. But I need better equipment. A proper recording setup. Maybe even… start a small label?"
The audacity of a fifteen-year-old saying that. But Alex wasn't just any fifteen-year-old. He spoke with the quiet conviction of his 25-year-old self, the experienced producer.
David looked at his wife, who gave an encouraging nod. He turned back to Alex, a thoughtful, appraising look in his eyes. "A label? That's ambitious, son. But… that song…" He paused. "In this timeline, David Vance was a successful, though somewhat conventional, businessman. Investments, property. Always solid and safe. But perhaps there was a dormant risk-taker in him. Or perhaps, just a father seeing a sudden, unexpected spark of genius in his son.
"Show me more," David said, his voice intrigued. "If you have more songs like that one, well… maybe we can talk about getting you some proper gear. And we'll see about this 'label' idea. But son, if this is what you can do… you need to take it seriously."
Relief, potent and dizzying, washed over Alex. It wasn't a blank check, but it was a door cracked open. The System pinged silently in his mind.
[Initial Impact Confirmed. Pathway to Resource Acquisition: Positive Probability.]
Alex nodded, a ghost of his professional smile touching his lips. "I have more, Dad. A lot more. You haven't heard anything yet."
And in the quiet of his room later that night, scrolling through the Maestro's Codex, Alex knew his he was right. They hadn't. This silent world had no idea what was about to hit it. The first echo had sounded, and it was just the beginning of a symphony.
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