The old laptop fan sounded like a miniature jet engine trying to take off.
I ignored the rattling noise and stared intently at the screen. The cracked screen reflected the faint glow of the digital audio workstation, a free open-source software I had downloaded back in my past life and tracked down here.
'The hardware is really holding me back,' I thought, clicking my tongue as a tiny buffer underrun notification popped up.
[Warning: CPU Usage at 98%]
I sighed. The system shop had electronics, but they cost a ridiculous amount of credits that I was currently saving for high-tier vocal attributes. For now, this old piece of plastic would have to survive.
I picked up the acoustic guitar. Numb was originally a track driven by a heavy, iconic synth prelude and massive rock drums. But since I only had myself, a cheap capo, and a dusty microphone, I had to completely restructure the arrangement.
I adjusted the capo to the second fret and strummed the opening progression.
Em - C - G - D.
The basic chords echoed through my small room. I stopped immediately, shaking my head.
"Too bright," I muttered.
The cheap wood of the guitar was giving off a tinny, cheerful resonance. Numb wasn't supposed to sound like a campfire sing-along. It needed to feel heavy, claustrophobic, and crushing.
I stripped the strings off entirely and opened a fresh pack I had bought at the station shop. Heavy gauge. They were harder to press down and would slice into normal fingers, but with my current Strength and Constitution stats, it felt like pushing down on rubber bands.
I tuned it back down. Strummed again.
Better. Thicker. But still missing that haunting, rhythmic drive.
I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the guitar body. I needed to loop the rhythm section first. In my past life, I spent years sitting in dark recording booths watching professional sound engineers tweak frequencies by fractions of a decibel. Muscle memory was a beautiful thing, but sound design was a beast of its own.
[Skill Acquired: Sound Engineering Lv 1]
A tiny blue notification popped up in the corner of my vision. I smiled faintly.
"Perfect. Let's abuse this."
I spent the next three hours entirely focused on the intro. I didn't even touch the lyrics yet. I sat on the edge of the bed, using the palm of my hand to strike the face of the guitar, recording a deep, thudding percussion line to mimic a bass drum.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I imported the audio file, added a heavy low-pass filter, and listened to the playback.
Clack.
The audio distorted wildly, cutting out into static.
'Damn it.'
The cheap microphone built into the laptop couldn't handle the low-frequency vibrations. It was peaking entirely too early.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache coming on. This was the frustrating part of the process. In the webnovels I used to read, protagonists just opened their mouths, sang a perfect track on a 50-yen microphone, and instantly became billionaires. In reality, bad acoustics made even a god-tier voice sound like it was recorded inside a trash can.
"System, open Shop," I whispered.
I scrolled through the utility section until I found what I needed.
[Acoustic Isolation Field (Temporary): 150 Credits]
[Effect: Creates a 2-meter invisible barrier that perfectly balances sound frequencies and eliminates background noise. Duration: 3 hours]
"Buy."
[Credits: 4800 -> 4650]
The moment I confirmed it, the subtle hum of the street outside—the distant cicadas, the faint rattling of the window frame—instantly vanished. The room became dead silent. It was a surreal sensation, like someone had put noise-canceling headphones over my entire body.
I re-recorded the percussion track.
This time, the waveform on the screen was flawless. A perfectly rounded, deep, heavy pulse.
[Sound Engineering Lv 1 -> Lv 5]
I played it once.
Pluck. Slide. Echo.
I listened to the playback. I didn't like it. It sounded too precise, too clean. It lacked the grit of the original Linkin Park vibe.
I lowered the action of the guitar strings slightly, intentionally letting them buzz against the frets just a tiny bit. It was a technique amateur guitarists avoided because it sounded "messy," but for a track about breaking down under pressure, that messiness was exactly what gave it life.
I played the intro again.
Pluck. Buzz. Slide.
The raw audio came through the speakers. It was haunting. It sounded like something was dragging its feet through mud, fighting to get up.
"Yes. That's the one," I murmured, a chill running down my own spine.
I layered the tracks together. The heavy, thudding heartbeat percussion underneath, the weeping, buzzing guitar melody on top, and a third track of low, sustained acoustic strums to fill out the background space.
By the time I finished mixing the instrumental loop, the clock on my phone read 11:30 PM.
My eyes were bloodshot from staring at the pixelated laptop screen, but my mind was completely wired. The giddiness from earlier hadn't faded; it had evolved into pure, unadulterated focus.
I pulled the microphone stand closer, adjusting it so it lined up perfectly with my mouth.
I took a deep breath, feeling the cool, minty residue of the Vocal Lozenges still working their magic on my throat. My chest expanded smoothly, the Stable Breath passive skill keeping my heart rate low and steady despite the adrenaline surging through me.
Through the thin wooden door of my room, the rest of the apartment was pitch black. Aoi was definitely asleep by now.
I looked at the lyrics typed out on the notepad document.
I'm tired of being what you want me to be...
I gripped the neck of the guitar, my fingers resting on the opening chord. The instrumental was locked in. The sound was exactly where it needed to be. Dark, heavy, and raw.
I clicked the red record button on the screen.
The four-beat countdown timer began to flash.
3... 2... 1...