Edward returned to the entrance of the Hulbury market. The afternoon sun hit the tall, white walls of the buildings, and the salty sea breeze carried the smell of fish and ripe fruit. He carefully placed his backpack on the ground, taking the portable amplifier out. He then closed it and leaned it against an empty stall. The dust on the ground lifted slightly as he set the guitar case in front of him, open like a silent invitation.
He took a deep breath.
Slung the guitar strap over his neck and connected the cable to the small amplifier. The notes he plucked from the strings with a gentle touch echoed briefly, blending with the sounds of distant voices and hurried footsteps. The first few people turned their heads in his direction. Some stopped. Others just slowed their pace, curious.
Edward felt the weight of their gazes. A knot tightened in his throat. Insecurity throbbed in his mind like an old ache. For a moment, he considered packing everything up again and leaving. But he breathed deeply once more, steady. He ran his fingers along the neck of the guitar and closed his eyes.
He didn't know what to play.
No song came to mind. No idea felt good enough. But his fingers moved on their own. As if the instrument were a mirror of his soul.
🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶
The guitar chose for him.
Maybe it was a reflection of everything he felt. Or maybe it was just fate — or a memory of his old world. It didn't matter. The sound that emerged from his guitar broke through the hum of the crowd like a sharp blade.
He lost himself in the notes, and his voice came soon after. Clear, in tune. Trembling at first, but quickly filled with anger and sadness, cut by something deeper: the homesickness, the pain of being in another world — and underneath all of it, the strange and sincere joy of being able to play.
— I am Iron Man... — Has he lost his mind? Can he see or is he blind? Can he walk at all, Or if he moves will he fall?
The words cut through the air with force, like a war cry.
People began to gather. In silence.
— He was turned to steel In the great magnetic field When he travelled time For the future of mankind...
Edward kept his eyes closed until the last note. When he finally opened them, he was surrounded. About twenty people were watching him. There were adults, children, elderly. Some had Pokémon with them — a Machop, a Jigglypuff, even a Growlithe — who mirrored their owners: still, attentive, silent.
Edward swallowed hard. The guitar felt twice as heavy now. He pressed it against his chest, feeling anxiety pulse through his veins.
Then, an old man approached.
He had a thick, gray mustache, and perched on his shoulder was a plump Pikachu with a calm expression. The man walked up to Edward's case and pulled some folded bills from his pocket. Slowly, he placed them in the case and looked Edward in the eyes for a moment.
Then he started clapping.
The sound of applause cut through the silence like thunder. One by one, the crowd members began to imitate him — and so did the Pokémon. The Machop clapped enthusiastically. The Jigglypuff seemed like it wanted to sing along. The Growlithe let out a brief, excited bark.
Edward blinked, not sure how to react. His hands were shaking, but there was also a warm wave of relief.
People began to put money in the case. Bills of different values. Expressions of surprise, smiles, and curious murmurs spread among them.
Then, a girl stood out from the crowd.
Straight black hair, eyes as blue as sapphires. She wore a short jacket and a pleated skirt. She had a mischievous smile on her lips, and there was something very alive in her gaze. She approached with light steps and stopped next to Edward.
— This song... I've never heard it before. Did you write it? — she asked, her voice soft but direct.
Edward froze for a moment. His heart raced.
He couldn't just say it was a song by Black Sabbath — a band from another world. None of those faces would know what he was talking about. None would know who Ozzy Osbourne was.
So, in a timid impulse, he stammered:
— Yes... I wrote it.
The girl stared at him for a second, surprised. Then she smiled, and her smile had something both charming and dangerous about it. She took a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and gently placed it in the case.
— I'd like to hear it again. I know it might be annoying... but would you play it again?
The crowd perked up. People began to ask. Pokémon were jumping or spinning in place. A boy with an Eevee on his shoulders yelled excitedly: "Play it again, mister!"
Edward turned red. He was sweating. But, seeing so many eyes filled with expectation, he felt the shame dissolve in the warmth of the moment.
He breathed. Positioned his fingers.
And began to play again.
This time, with his eyes open.
The crowd kept the rhythm. The sound of the guitar blended with the noise of the market and the Pokémon. A group of young people danced spontaneously. A Lotad hit the leaf on its back like a drum. A Pichu climbed its trainer's shoulders to get a better view.
Edward was out of tune at first, but soon regained control. His face lit up almost involuntarily. He was genuinely happy. Happy that someone liked what he played. Happy, for that moment, not to be a stranger. To be heard.
When the last note sounded for the second time, he was exhausted.
But he smiled.
An even louder round of applause filled the square.
And for a few minutes, Edward completely forgot he was stuck in another world.