Devil’s Music

Kevin, guided by Alisher Usmanov, was awe-struck as he entered through the main gate.

"Isn't this place bigger than the White House?"

The garden that caught his eye was a vast plain dotted with golden, winter-stricken grass and solitary, serene trees, alongside a huge mansion to the left with a horse breeding stable. The three horses visible within the stable—one white and two black—seemed to frolic contentedly around the spacious grounds, each displaying thick muscles and robust tendons, the signs of excellent care. Shizuka too looked around the house with wide eyes, but Geon and Byungjun, accustomed to the Red Castle, were less impressed and followed Alisher Usmanov through the garden.

Alisher Usmanov matched pace with Geon and casually approached him.

"You're staying at Gregory's house, aren't you?"

Geon nodded but with a puzzled look asked,

"Yes, but... do you know Gregory?"

Alisher Usmanov, though corpulent, wasn't severely obese but rather comfortably plump. He laughed, hoisting up his trousers.

"Ha, it's been about 40 years. That's how long I've known him."

"Ah, friends since childhood?"

"Heh, not initially friends, but that's how it is now. Come on, let's go inside."

As they approached the mansion's entrance, they were led to the reception room by maids and butlers. Along the way, passing a hallway adorned with paintings, Byungjun leaned over to Geon and whispered.

"There's a Van Gogh here, looks authentic."

Geon turned to look at the painting, noting the light it emitted, and nodded.

"It's genuine."

Byungjun's eyes widened as he examined more paintings.

"If that Van Gogh is genuine, how much is this painting worth? So he's a millionaire to just have it hanging casually in the corridor leading to the reception room?"

Geon stopped to look at another painting featuring an unusual depiction of a gray and white bull. Squinting and crossing his arms, he observed it closely as the rest of the group also stopped to see what Geon was looking at. Byungjun stood beside him and inspected the painting.

"It's quite a unique painting, looks almost like a hand-drawn map. Wonder which famous artist painted this one? Must be worth a fortune?"

Alisher Usmanov, noticing the group had stopped, turned back with a smile and stood beside Geon.

"Kay mentioned you're Korean, right? This painting is by a Korean."

Byungjun turned to him with a surprised look as Alisher Usmanov smiled and said,

"It's 'Bull' by Lee Jung-seob. It was very difficult to acquire since it's not available through regular channels, ha ha."

Hearing the name of a Korean painter made Byungjun look at the painting in awe before turning to Geon, who grimaced and crossed his arms, scrutinizing the painting. Geon then muttered, causing Byungjun to ask,

"Geon, what is it?"

Geon looked seriously at Alisher Usmanov and said,

"It's not authentic, Mr. Usmanov."

"What?"

Alisher Usmanov appeared slightly shocked as Byungjun quickly stepped in front of Geon, sweating profusely and nudging Geon with his hip,

"Ahaha, what would this kid know about it? Ha ha, sorry, my apologies for the rudeness."

Byungjun, pushing Geon aside with his hip, suggested checking the authenticity,

"If you paid a lot for it, it might be that the seller played a trick on you."

Alisher Usmanov's expression hardened. As he turned his gaze back to Lee Jung-seob's painting, he snapped his fingers, prompting an old butler to hurry over. Without even making eye contact with the butler, Alisher Usmanov slightly turned his head and ordered,

"Check it."

The butler bowed and hurried off as Byungjun, unable to stand the awkward silence, clapped his hands and pulled Geon along,

"Ha ha, sorry for the interruption. Don't mind us and please proceed."

As Byungjun led Geon toward the reception room, Kevin and Shizuka, noticing Alisher Usmanov standing alone in the hallway, quickly followed into the reception room. Left alone in the corridor, Alisher Usmanov glared ominously at Lee Jung-seob's painting before his expression softened and he walked into the reception room. With no host to invite them to sit, the group lingered around the sofas until Alisher Usmanov spread his arms with a smile,

"Why are you standing? Please, sit down. Have some refreshments."

As the group took their

 seats, tea and cookies were promptly served. Geon sipped the steaming tea and his eyes widened, prompting Alisher Usmanov to smile at him,

"It tastes familiar, doesn't it? It's the same tea you've had at the Red Castle, from Gregory."

"Ah! Indeed, I don't know much about tea, but I remember having it occasionally in Gregory's room."

"Heh, that friend of yours is quite neglectful of guests, isn't he? He should serve it every day."

Kevin, listening to their conversation, leaned toward Shizuka, who sat upright next to him, maintaining tension, and whispered,

"Who exactly is Gregory? And what is the Red Castle?"

Shizuka, unaware of where Geon lived or who Gregory was, shook her head slightly and gestured with her eyes that she didn't know. Alisher Usmanov, perceiving their cluelessness but generally informed of the situation, pretended not to notice and continued the conversation,

"You'll be staying on the third floor. It's all prepared, and you will be guided there shortly."

Byungjun, sitting on the edge of the sofa, replied,

"Ah, thank you. We could have stayed at a hotel, but your hospitality is truly appreciated."

"Ha ha, of course. You're my guests."

Geon placed his cup on the table and asked,

"Has the front office been briefed about the conditions we provided in advance?"

Alisher Usmanov nodded as if it were obvious,

"Of course. The use of 'Fury' is at the front's discretion, but the new track...what was it called?"

"We always cheer for you."

"Ah, right. Sorry. You requested that it be played when the team is losing, and also in the locker room during halftime. Up to here, everything's been coordinated with the front...but the last condition was a bit vague. You mentioned the sound of the cheering squad singing along should be transmitted to the locker room—could you clarify that?"

Geon, resting his elbows on his knees and interlocking his hands, explained,

"Support isn't just about music or sound. It's about the sincerity of the fans who sing and cheer; we hope that their spirit and energy can be felt in the locker room. That is, the voices and sincerity of the spectators singing along should reach the players there."

Alisher Usmanov, understanding, nodded,

"I see. I'll ensure that's arranged with the front office. Now, you must be tired from your long flight, so rest in your rooms until dinner."

Alisher Usmanov snapped his fingers again, and maids rushed out to escort Kevin, Byungjun, and Shizuka each to a room on the third floor. As the reception room cleared, leaving only Alisher Usmanov and Geon, Alisher stood and suggested,

"Kay, let's talk a bit more, shall we? Do you like walks?"

"Yes, I do."

"The garden paths around the house are lovely. Let's take a stroll."

The two walked through the endlessly sprawling garden. Despite the slight chill, the countryside air was refreshing, and Geon smiled pleasantly. Alisher Usmanov then spoke,

"Arsenal has been at the top of the league for nearly a century. But that's the limit; in recent years, our team hasn't surpassed fourth place due to Chelsea, Manchester United, and the newly emerging powerhouse, Man City, fueled by oil money. Of course, there's the traditional rival, Tottenham Hotspur, but in terms of ranking, we've always been fourth or below."

Geon listened quietly as Alisher continued,

"It's embarrassing every year for the supporters, given their passionate support throughout the season."

Touching a frail branch of a small ornamental tree, Alisher Usmanov added,

"There was resistance from the club about this matter. 'What can music do in a sports match?' they said, and even the coach, Arsène Wenger, criticized me. But my belief is different. In sports, while physicality, technique, and tactics are important, the mental aspect is equally crucial."

Geon agreed, nodding,

"A strong will can surpass physical limits."

"Exactly! Arsenal is facing FC Barcelona in the Champions League's round of 16. Experts predicted their victory at 8:2, and bettors thought we would lose 3:0. We need a miracle now. I'm betting on your music for that."

Geon nodded slightly and looked thoughtfully at Alisher Usmanov.

"But why choose me?"

Alisher Usmanov patted Geon's shoulder with a hearty smile,

"Because of Kiska, that child's transformation. I've been watching."

At the mention of Kiska, Geon's eyes widened.

"Kiska?"

"Heh, yes. I heard from Gregory. Kiska mentioned that you resolved a lifelong issue for that friend, so I believe you can solve my problem too."

"Really?"

"Ha ha, just kidding. Actually, I spoke to Gregory yesterday. He said Kiska gives him a kiss every morning and evening, thanks to you. I know it's unusual for Kiska to just follow orders, so while I was pondering this, I accidentally listened to your 'Fury' Liverpool Sound City version."

Looking earnestly at Geon, Alisher Usmanov concluded,

"After hearing that music, I felt a refreshing relief, as if my inner anger was being healthily expressed. That's when I realized, the music you create has an unprecedented power."

Late at night.

Alisher Usmanov was in his study, having been walking around the garden and engaging in a lengthy conversation with Geon. 

Knock knock.

"Come in."

In response to the knock, Alisher Usmanov saw the butler enter and took off his reading glasses to ask.

"Is it confirmed?"

The butler spoke in a very cautious tone.

"The British Museum has taken the painting for examination and it came back as 'date unconfirmed'."

"Date unconfirmed?"

The butler clasped his hands together and slightly bowed his head, then began to sweat profusely.

"Experts say that the paper used for Oriental paintings is very fragile. Thus, they often sandwich another sheet behind it when painting. The sheet with the painting is called 'front lining', and the sheet added behind is called 'back lining'."

Alisher Usmanov, sinking deeply into his study chair, gestured for the butler to continue explaining.

"Over time, the paint from the front lining seeps into the back lining. When the back lining is removed for work, it's considered a forgery," said the butler.

Alisher Usmanov's expression grew stern. The butler noticed the change and continuously wiped off his cold sweat.

"There's a fake painting hanging in my house, and it was spotted by a guest?"

"I'm so, so sorry!"

Alisher Usmanov tapped his fingers on the table. The butler, noticing the quiet room filled only with the sound of his boss's tapping, bowed his head and trembled, his sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him. After a long silence, 

Alisher Usmanov asked,

"What was the route the painting took?"

"It came from... North Korea."

"I see. Was it a direct transaction?"

"No, it went through a seller in China."

"Was it Xingxiu?"

"Yes, that's right."

Alisher Usmanov stood up from his seat in the study, took out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a drink. As he looked at the whiskey, more than half full in the glass, he suddenly gulped it down and tightly gripped the glass, glaring at the butler.

"Contact Wei from the Black Society. Tell him to erase Xingxiu's name from the world by tomorrow morning."

The butler, unable to respond and fumbling, was prompted again by Alisher Usmanov.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"No, I did! I will convey it!"

"Leave."

"Yes, yes!"

The butler hurriedly exited as Alisher Usmanov poured himself another whiskey. With a fiercer look than when dealing with Geon, he sat back at the desk with the whiskey glass in hand, stopped his movement and looked up at the ceiling.

"Hmm... Kay, so this is why Gregory praised him so highly."

While Alisher Usmanov was drinking alone in the study, Geon, who had been directed to a room on the third floor, was calling Gregory. The phone rang for a while before it was answered, not by Gregory but by Kiska.

"Kay?"

"Uh? Kiska?"

"Yeah."

"Oh... Is Gregory out?"

"No, he's in the bathroom."

"Ah, I see. Have you eaten?"

"Why do you keep asking if I've eaten? Are you curious about my meals?"

"Ah... haha, it's more like a Korean thing, you know? With the long history of wars, it's become a habit to ask people if they've had their meal."

"Yeah, I've eaten. What about you, Kay?"

"Oh, I've eaten too."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in England, in a village called Prestbury, just north of London."

"Alisher Usmanov's place?"

"Uh? You know it?"

"Yeah, he's a friend of my dad."

"Oh, I see."

"My dad's back. I'll hand you over to him."

"Thanks."

"Call me again in an hour."

"Haha, will do."

From the other end of the line, Kiska and Gregory's voices could be heard. Kiska, who usually sounded cold, seemed a bit closer to her father now, greeting him with a kiss morning and evening, as their conversation sounded like a typical father-daughter chat.

The rustling stopped, and then Gregory's cheerful voice came through.

"Hello, Kay?"

"Gregory, long time no see."

"Haha, indeed. I thought you'd forgotten me."

"Haha, forget you? How's life in Georgia? How's your mother doing?"

"Well, she's over ninety, so she's not very well. She won't last much longer."

Though saddened, Geon quickly dismissed the contradictory thought that emerged in his mind—that Kiska would return after her grandmother's passing—and responded,

"Ah, I see

."

"Yeah, we're planning to move her to a hospital soon. But enough about that, how have you been? I heard about your exploits in Liverpool. You've produced another remarkable piece of music."

"Haha, just working hard. I'm currently in England."

"England? Are you there for a performance?"

"No, I'm at Alisher Usmanov's house."

"...….What?"

"Alisher Usmanov, a friend of yours, I heard."

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Geon tilted his head at Gregory's sudden quietness.

"What's wrong, Gregory?"

".....Why did that guy call you?"

"He's a major shareholder of Arsenal FC, and we've agreed to create a new anthem for the team."

"Hmm…"

"Is there something wrong, Gregory?"

"Listen, Kay. He is indeed my friend, but I don't know what his intentions are. Try not to get too close."

"Why? He seems like a nice guy."

"That guy, he might be involved in business and investments now, but he's not a man who lives in the light."

"Not living in the light—what does that mean?"

"Kay, I've known him for 40 years. Can't you guess what that means?"

"….What does it mean?"

"That he used to do the same kind of work as me."

"You mean, the mafia?"

"Yes, and not just any mafia—he's at the pinnacle of the Uzbek mafia, though the others might not know."

"Oh…"

"I'm around, so he won't harm you, but he's a guy who hides a fiery temperament behind his smile. It's better to be cautious. Anyway, why didn't this bastard tell me he'd called you over? I'll have to give him a call."

"Oh… okay."

"Head straight to the U.S. once you're done in England. You wouldn't want to get too close and end up seeing something unpleasant. Unlike me, who's dealing with the natural gas business, he has connections that can move not just the Chinese underworld but even the Yakuza in Japan."

"Ah… understood, Gregory."

"Good. If anything happens, contact Miroslav immediately."

"Thank you."

At that moment, in the director's office of the CIA in the U.S.

Bang!!!

"Damn it!! As if the Red Mafia wasn't enough, now it's the Uzbek mafia!!?"

The agent had brought in a file for a report, which Director Mitchell slammed onto the table.

"What the hell is this? How many of our agents are attached to this one musician? Get me connected to Secretary Matt Besler right now!"

After a security call was made to the chief secretary, Mitchell picked up the phone irritably.

"Hello, Secretary!"

Unlike the agitated Mitchell, Matt Besler answered the phone calmly.

"Yes, Director. What's the matter?"

"Kay is in England."

"Director, you don't need to report that level of detail."

"That's not it! He's met with Alisher Usmanov!"

"Alisher Usmanov? The major shareholder of Arsenal FC?"

"That's just his public image, you know that, right?"

"Yes, he's also a boss of the Uzbek mafia."

"What are you going to do? Half of our agents in England are attached to Kay. How are we supposed to gather information with this setup? Should we continue like this?"

After a moment of silence over the phone, as Mitchell awaited Matt's decision, he spoke up impatiently.

"Why the hell is the President making such a fuss about Kay anyway?"

"Is Kay alone?"

"No, young Master Kevin, Shizuka, and Mr. Lee are with him."

"What? Young Master Kevin went there!?"

"Yes, he's staying at Alisher Usmanov's estate."

"Damn, you should have started with that! Upgrade to maximum alert!"

Click.

Matt, having said only what he wanted to say, hung up the phone. Mitchell cursed a blue streak and banged the phone down on the table several times before throwing the now-broken phone and shouting.

"Damn! Get me a new phone! And contact our people in England to attach more agents!"

The secretary quickly opened the door and left as Mitchell clutched his head in frustration.

"Damn, I'm already swamped as it is."

Abruptly

The door suddenly burst open, and Mitchell turned his head irritably.

"What now?"

"Di... Director!"

An agent with blond hair slicked back rushed in, almost tripping over, which made Mitchell sense a developing situation and he asked again.

"What is it, what happened?"

"Di... Director! The Chinese underworld has hit Xingxiu!"

Mitchell stood up abruptly.

"What! Xingxiu was our collaborator, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was a broker providing us with information from China. Also involved in smuggling art."

"Why, what happened?

 What's become of Xingxiu?"

"Um… um…"

"Spit it out!"

"He… he's dead. About fifty of his men were gunned down, and his warehouse and mansion have burned down."

"What? Find out what happened! Is there a reason the underworld would hit Xingxiu?"

"Uh, that's… uh, it hasn't been figured out yet."

"You incompetents! Go find out and report back!"

"Yes, yes!!!"

As the CIA worked through the night, dawn broke, and Alisher Usmanov, who had received a report that the underworld had eliminated Xingxiu, looked satisfied as he drank his morning coffee and gazed out the window. Then he furrowed his brow.

"What's that?"

He spotted a strikingly fair-haired young boy sitting atop a dazzling white horse in his stables, stroking the horse's mane. As Alisher Usmanov set his coffee cup on the table and hurried to the stables with a shovel handle in his hand, he shouted, pointing at the boy with the shovel.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

The blond boy, gently stroking the horse's mane, turned his head. Seeing his piercing blue eyes, Alisher Usmanov dropped the shovel handle and wore a dazed expression as the boy dismounted and approached him with a slight smile.

"Alisher Usmanov?"

Alisher Usmanov, almost unconsciously, nodded in response as the blond boy smiled broadly.

"I'm Pyemon. Shall we have a talk?"