Devil’s Music

The game had ended, but not a single spectator had left their seat. The players, still unable to calm their excitement, continued to wave and greet the fans.

About fifty staff members were busily handing out the beers bought by Geon, but with an audience of 60,000, it was clear that more time was needed to distribute one to each spectator.

Although there were only slightly more than a few hundred fans, the record-breaking sales by the Arsenal club meant a beer for everyone in attendance.

The first few who received their beers could have started drinking, but they waited until everyone had one. Occasionally, middle-aged men would take a sip first, but under the watchful eyes of those around them, they quietly put their beers down. Finally, when everyone had a beer, the stadium's big screen lit up with new text.

"Beer is on Kay, and the hot dogs are on Arsenal!"

At the sight of these words on the screen, the stadium erupted with an even louder cheer than when there had been a turnaround during the game.

Employees rushed out again, frantically distributing hot dogs wrapped in paper. Even the players in the middle of the field waving at the audience were handed beers and hot dogs.

Though it was right after the game, the players who didn’t drink beer but bit into their hot dogs climbed up to the audience seats near the corner and pumped their fists, prompting the audience to cheer again.

Arsène Wenger, watching a staff member hand over food and then walk away, stared thoughtfully at the food in his hands.

"What was different? The strategy, the tactics, even the players were the same in both halves. What changed us?"

Arsène Wenger lifted his gaze to the audience. Slowly turning around to face the audience fully once more, he stopped at a certain point.

His eyes caught sight of Geon cheering with Seizuka and Kevin. Wenger looked at Geon thoughtfully.

"Music, the very thing I once scorned, asking what could be achieved with it. It moved the hearts of the spectators, and that will transformed into willpower, reaching our players and me. This is the power of music…"

Wenger’s legs moved. Holding a beer and a hot dog in his hands, he walked toward the VIP section as the audience stood up to give him a standing ovation, but his eyes were fixed only on Geon.

As Wenger approached the advertising panel guarded by a ball boy, the boy hesitated but then stepped aside.

Wenger sat down across from where Geon was seated. A beautiful young man with an otherworldly appearance looked up and smiled at him. Wenger slightly smiled back and extended a beer to him.

“Cheers.”

Geon stood up, clinking his beer loudly against Wenger's.

“Congratulations, Coach!”

Their beer glasses clashed, and foam scattered on the floor. Reporters, as if they had been waiting, captured the moment of their toast, and in the flurry of flashing lights, Arsène Wenger, as if no one else was around, quietly said,

“The power of music. This is indeed the power of the music created by a musician named Kay. I acknowledge and thank you.”

Kevin, who was watching Geon and Wenger, offered his glass for a toast, but Wenger had already turned away. Watching Wenger disappear, a broad smile hung on Geon's lips.

At the top of the stadium in the VIP room.

Alisher Usmanov, with his fist clenched, poured champagne into his glass until it overflowed and laughed heartily.

"Ha ha ha! See that? Did you see?"

Stan Kroenke, who seemed relaxed and sprawled on the sofa, took the champagne glass Usmanov handed him and raised it.

"This time, you've won, I admit."

"Ha ha ha, the board may not acknowledge it, but the results are good, so no more pressure, right?"

Stan Kroenke chuckled and took a sip of champagne.

"If anyone applies pressure, I’ll deal with them this time."

"Good."

"By the way, collecting gold? Got some good intel?"

Stan Kroenke's casual remark made Alisher Usmanov visibly stiffen.

"Uh… that, it's for investment purposes…"

Stan Kroenke tilted his head, sniffing out the hint of money.

"Haven’t heard that gold prices are rising. Did you get info about a war or something?"

Usmanov hesitated, then spoke.

"Ah… no, it’s not that, but since it’s you… You haven’t exactly amassed your fortune by being saintly, have you?"

Stan Kroenke pursed his lips, holding the glass.

"Is there such a thing as a good rich man? Well, if you spend money nicely, maybe. But that’s something for those who make a modest living, not for us, the top 1% of the wealthy."

Usmanov looked around and then spoke up.

"That’s… well, you might want to start

accumulating some gold too… because, you know… ah!!!"

Usmanov, checking to see if anyone was listening, had just started to speak when he froze, seeing someone staring at him from atop the stadium roof. Stan Kroenke, noticing Usmanov’s reaction, looked outside. Seeing nothing unusual among the still partying crowd, he turned his gaze back to Usmanov.

"What's the matter?"

Usmanov backed away, his face breaking into a cold sweat as he noticed Pyemon on the roof opposite, staring right at him.

The beautiful but cold and deep eyes of the blond youth seemed like a predatory beast right in front of him.

Although it was too far to see the face clearly, Usmanov, realizing that he was being watched, stumbled backward. The champagne glass in his hand shattered, soaking the floor, as the security guards burst through the door.

"What’s the matter?"

The security guard helped Usmanov up and spoke into his radio.

"We need cleanup here. Are you alright, Mr. Alisher Usmanov?"

Usmanov, supported by the guard but still staring outside, stuttered.

"I’m, I’m fine."

Stan Kroenke frowned, rising from his seat.

"What's wrong with you? What are you scared of? There are thirty bodyguards right outside this VIP room door. Even if the mafia came storming in, we have the manpower to dodge them. What are you afraid of?"

Usmanov, with a haunted look, fixed his gaze outside and said in a trembling voice.

"There's nothing."

Stan Kroenke scowled.

"What do you mean, there’s nothing?"

Usmanov, shrugging off the supporting guard, shouted.

"They can’t protect me! Not even a thousand of these guards can protect me from that person!"

"Come on, Alisher! Who is this person? Get a hold of yourself and talk!"

"Let me go! I'm going home!"

Usmanov stumbled twice as he left the room and then disappeared. Stan Kroenke, left alone, gave an incredulous look toward the roof Usmanov had been watching.

As evening approached and the lights brightened, there was nothing unusual on the roof. Kroenke scowled.

*

Not far from Arsenal's home stadium, in the Premier Inn London Angel Islington hotel suite.

Lynn sat alone in a huge room with white wallpaper and marble floors, listening to the cheers from Emirates Stadium.

She scratched the armrest of the sofa with her long nails, her expression suddenly changing. She turned her head to look at the darkened room and spoke.

"Did you bring the message from Michael, Remiel?"

In the darkness, a pair of glowing eyes appeared. The lights flickered off and on as if the eyes were blinking.

"He has not yet decided, Uriel."

Uriel, as Lynn was referred to, smiled.

"It’s been a while since I’ve been called by that name."

The eyes scanned her body up and down.

"For a human, you have a beautiful body. How long have you been in this child’s body?"

Lynn looked down at her body, then pulled out a wallet from her bag and extracted an old photograph. It was a color photo of an Asian woman holding a little girl. Lynn caressed the woman in the photo and spoke.

"It was when the child was ten years old. Right after Gamagin approached a child named Geon, I entered at Michael's command. I’ve been waiting in this body ever since, and it seems I’ll need to stay a bit longer to return to an angel’s body."

As the darkness fell silent, Lynn put the photo aside and asked.

"Where is Remiel’s body?"

"In a home in the United States, sleeping."

"I see. You haven’t been in that body for long, have you?"

"That's right, about five years."

"What is Michael pondering?"

The glowing eyes in the darkness slightly wavered. Seeing this, Lynn gently smiled.

"It seems Remiel also has a fondness for children, so he must be worried about the child."

The pair of eyes closed quietly.

"I convey Michael’s message."

Lynn rose from her seat, knelt on the floor, and bowed her head. The eyes opened, emitting a burst of white light, filling the large suite with a booming voice.

"Watch over Kushion and protect the child."

Lynn’s head bowed even lower.

"I have received the message of Michael, the right hand of the one who oversees the world. Everything will be as He wills."

As the resounding voice faded, Lynn raised her head and looked at the still-dark eyes.

"The time to meet the last child is near. Are you prepared?"

The eyes in the darkness smiled.

"I am prepared without any hindrance."

Lynn stood up and looked out at Emirates Stadium from the window.

"Kiska, Seizuka, Kevin, and the last child to meet…

Once that’s completed, Kushion will notice. We must be ready for that time."

Lynn and the eyes in the darkness nodded at each other.

>

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