Chapter 20
The Scorched Violinist (2)
The isolation room was quiet.
The Violinist, and us, were holding our breath.
Chief Myeon stepped in first.
Behind him came Deputy Mok, Manager Batori, Assistant Son, and Section Chief Sik.
Finally, I entered as well.
The metal door slowly closed, and I could hear the pressure filling the gap.
Even the air inside was different from outside.
Heat and ash-like energy clung to the skin.
Every breath felt like the roof of my mouth was burning.
Tick.
Somewhere on the floor, residual heat sparked.
I instinctively turned my head to avoid the flames.
And in that moment, it moved.
The Scorched Violinist.
A charred, corpse-like figure—yet it raised its hand like a nobleman at a formal ball.
With its blackened violin held under its left arm, it lifted the bow in its right hand and slowly bowed.
The twisted body bent smoothly, as if it felt no pain at all.
Crackle!
Ash poured down from its scorched suit, scattering embers into the air.
It was unmistakably a “greeting.”
Even through its broken form and burned eye sockets, there was a strange sense of refined etiquette.
Unnaturally polite. And deeply unsettling.
Assistant Son tilted his fist slightly.
Manager Batori smiled faintly.
Chief Myeon had his cheek slightly puffed out.
‘Why are they… all like this?’
I pretended to stay calm and narrowed my eyes.
The Violinist, now upright again, slowly scanned us.
Burned eye sockets.
No eyeballs—only embers flickering inside.
And those embers… felt like they were drifting toward me.
“Let’s begin.”
At that moment, Deputy Mok spoke.
ZZZZZZZZ—
The performance began.
But this time, it was different.
The first stroke scraped the strings.
A sound like peeling flesh with intent.
—Kkrrrk.
—Eeiiing. Kreeeek.
Irregular rhythm.
No melody.
Not music—fracture.
Each sound struck like a blade.
It felt like nails being driven into the dark space between ears and brain.
I immediately realized—this was not something a human could endure.
Kreeeek—— BOOM.
The Scorched Violinist moved its bow like it was trying to end life itself through the performance.
Embers began to float inside the isolation room.
Particles reacting to sound waves—like living heat.
I took a step back.
But no one followed.
Everyone just stood there, watching.
Manager Batori gently swirled her drink, smiling in amusement.
Assistant Son rested his chin on interlocked fingers.
Chief Myeon stood calmly, arms folded.
Section Chief Sik blinked while clinking chains.
Deputy Mok did not move at all.
‘Am I the only one reacting to this?’
I swallowed hard.
The sound continued.
Not music—an insult to sound itself.
Kreeeek.
Fragments of emotion twisted, cracked, and screamed.
If “music” could be described as strange,
this was strangeness itself given form.
I kept my eyes wide open.
If I closed them, the sound felt like it would sink deeper.
An ember brushed past my face.
Ash landed on my shoulder. I carefully brushed it off.
Even then, the performance did not stop.
It was speaking—
in an incomprehensible language.
Like fear and madness being torn apart and expressed through sound instead of notes.
When the violin intensified, I could hear faint laughter from Chief Myeon through the mask-like gear.
A burning melody—yes, that was the only way to describe it.
The Scorched Violinist was burning itself into existence through sound.
But instead of art, it felt like pure distortion.
KIIIIIIIIING!
“Hmm. So the performance itself is its purpose. Not very enjoyable, but we can play along for a bit.”
Manager Batori spoke softly.
Her fingers, holding a straw, stopped moving.
Then she hummed lightly, as if mocking it.
“Ra, la la~ lu, lu lu~”
And then—
Silence.
Everything stopped.
Every sound.
Every “note.”
The Violinist froze mid-motion.
The floating embers halted in the air.
Even heat seemed to stop moving.
‘It stopped?’
I looked at it.
The Scorched Violinist was still there, but something had changed.
Its head slowly turned.
With a slow, creaking motion, it faced Manager Batori.
Its hand, which had been pressing the strings, moved.
“……”
A burnt finger slowly extended forward.
It pointed directly at her.
Batori did not move.
She tilted her head slightly and spoke again.
“Lu~”
In a split second—
A thin red line cut through the air.
Fire.
A thread-like flame started at her feet, climbed her legs, her waist, her shoulders—
And engulfed her entire body.
FWOOSH—
Not quite fire. Not quite explosion. Not quite illusion.
It was too quiet to be fire.
Too precise to be destruction.
Too real to be hallucination.
Red light and black ash covered her completely.
‘Fire? She’s actually burning?’
Right in front of me, Manager Batori was spontaneously combusting.
No one moved.
Chief Mok was writing something down.
Section Chief Sik didn’t react.
Chief Myeon… was smiling.
And Batori—
She calmly straightened her posture inside the flames.
She dusted off her shoulder as if brushing away dirt.
Then—
The fire disappeared.
Just like a switch turning off.
No flames. No smoke. No burn marks.
“Just as I thought,” she said quietly.
“It really dislikes interruptions to its performance.”
Right next to me, she had been engulfed in flames—and survived.
And yet—
Her melted flesh, scorched skin, swollen veins, broken bone structure…
All of it began to wriggle and restore itself.
Skin crawled back into place.
Flesh reattached.
Muscles reformed.
In seconds, she returned to human form.
Even the ring on her finger was intact.
Her eyes flashed.
She was now visibly angry beneath her calm smile.
CRACK—
Something split.
Her back tore open.
And from it—
dozens of tentacles burst out.
Each one twisted, lined with teeth or claws, writhing sharply.
They prepared to strike—
But then.
Chief Myeon slowly raised his hand.
No words. No command.
Just a slow, simple gesture.
And one of his multiple faces looked at her.
That alone was enough.
The tentacles paused mid-air… then slowly retracted back into her body.
The room returned to silence.
Batori exhaled briefly, then leaned back as if nothing had happened.
“……”
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t breathe properly.
The performance resumed.
Kiiiiiing!
The Violinist continued playing, as if nothing mattered anymore.
The sound was now deeper. More twisted. More furious.
And I was still looking at Batori.
She turned and met my gaze.
She smiled gently.
But now it felt… wrong.
The sound began to wrap around my mind like iron wire.
My heartbeat became irregular. My stomach turned.
The strings pierced through my skin.
And still—
The mask kept me conscious.
If I screamed, I was done.
Batori or not, I would burn.
So I stayed silent.
Just listened.
That was all I could do.
And finally—
Tick.
It stopped.
The bow lowered slowly.
The scorched figure lifted its head.
Ash fell from its suit like dust.
It looked at us.
Waiting.
For something.
Then Chief Myeon clapped.
Clap. Clap.
One by one, others followed.
Even Batori clapped lazily.
I hesitated—
Then joined in.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The Violinist bowed deeply.
A formal, respectful gesture.
Like a performance had ended.
‘What the hell is this?’
We left the isolation room.
“Just as Manager Batori said,” Deputy Mok spoke quietly,
“there are entities whose existence revolves around performance.”
“Frozen Pianist, Decayed Cellist. All B-class entities.”
I nodded slowly.
“So the Scorched Violinist is one of them…”
“Yes. It was classified as C-class, but it will be upgraded to B-class.”
That single sentence made something in my chest twitch.
Frozen Pianist.
Decayed Cellist.
Scorched Violinist.
Just one of them was already like this.
What happens if they all gather?
‘No. Don’t think about that.’
Back in the office, we completed our reports.
Deputy Mok wrote notes.
Assistant Son sketched something with an extra hand.
Batori stared at the monitor while swirling her drink.
Section Chief Sik lay on the floor in silence.
Then—
“Agent Jeong.”
Chief Myeon turned to me.
“Yes, sir.”
I straightened instinctively.
“You’re not ready for direct A-class extraction work yet…”
All of his faces smiled faintly.
“But observation should be fine. Watch carefully. Learn properly. Until the end.”
“…Yes, I will learn.”
“I hope you grow quickly enough to meet A-class entities with me.”
His words were calm—but heavy.
A-class.
The final remaining entity.
The Disassembled God’s Portrait.
Even the name alone was enough to ruin a day.
I took a slow breath.
And soon after—
Our extraction team moved again.
Toward Sector A.
The unknown ground we had never stepped into since joining.
[Entity Management Profile: B-97]
Entity Name: Scorched Violinist
Entity Code: B-97
Type: Biological
Danger Level: B-class
(Upgraded from field observation)
[Details]
Resonant Performance
The entity treats performance as its existence. The sound directly interferes with perception rather than hearing, distorting cognition and causing emotional breakdown.
Sensory Ignition
Embers generated during performance are not simple fire, but converted sound wave energy. Those who interrupt or disturb the performance are immediately targeted with filament-like ignition attacks.
[Extraction Mechanism]
While performing, it collects resonance frequencies within the containment room and converts them into refined high-dimensional audio energy.
[Management Protocol]
Unprotected exposure may cause ocular and nasal membrane rupture.
C-grade or higher cognitive filtering equipment is required.
The entity recognizes formal etiquette.
Applause is mandatory after performance. Failure may result in high-temperature explosive ignition of the entire containment area.
Interrupting the performance is strictly forbidden.
Especially strong entities may be treated as “dishonoring the performance,” triggering indiscriminate flame attacks.
[Special Notes]
Post-operation fatigue and mental exhaustion are expected. Immediate neurological stabilization is recommended.
Suspected origin related to B-31 (Frozen Pianist) and B-75 (Decayed Cellist).
