Jazz for Two: The Silent Beat

Episode 1: The Sound of Silence

Episode 1: The Sound of Silence

The Seoul Conservatory of Music was a place that breathed music at all hours of the day. It was a haven for the gifted, the passionate, and the hungry — the students who spent hours mastering their craft, building their futures note by note. But the old music hall — tucked away in a corner of the sprawling campus — was different.

It wasn't like the other practice rooms. It was older, dustier, and more worn-down. The air inside felt heavy, as though it had absorbed too many past sounds, too many lost notes, too many unspoken secrets. The building was ancient, and over the years, rumors had grown around it. Whispers of strange noises, the kind of sounds that could only come from beyond the living. Some even said the place was haunted.

But on this particular evening, it wasn't ghosts or whispers that filled the air. It was music.

Ju Ha sat alone in the center of the stage, his guitar resting comfortably in his lap. His long fingers danced over the strings, coaxing out a melody that was hauntingly beautiful, yet dissonant, as though it came from somewhere deep and untouchable. The music swirled around him, filling the vast emptiness of the hall, but even the sound seemed to tremble under the weight of something unspoken.

His eyes were closed, his expression serene yet distant, as if the music had taken him to a place where words couldn't follow. His body swayed slightly with the rhythm, lost in the melody he alone could hear. The guitar was his only companion, its strings his only form of communication. To anyone else, the music would have been beautiful — tragic and beautiful, like a soft rain against a dark sky.

But to Ju Ha, it was more than just a song. It was a conversation, a plea to something that lived in the shadows. It was an echo of things he couldn't quite understand, feelings he couldn't quite express. The music was his only way of making sense of the world.

Then, without warning, the air shifted.

A whisper.

At first, it was so faint that Ju Ha thought he imagined it. A soft murmur that seemed to come from the very walls, like a breeze brushing past his ear. But it wasn't the wind. It was a voice.

"Help me..."

Ju Ha's fingers faltered. The melody broke off, the last chord lingering in the air as he opened his eyes. The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows in the corners of the hall deepening. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly scanned the room. There was no one there, nothing unusual — except for the overwhelming feeling that he wasn't truly alone. Something was in the room with him.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything felt wrong. It wasn't the first time he had heard something like this — the whispers, the voices. It happened often enough that he had grown used to them. But tonight... tonight felt different. The air was heavier, the voice more insistent.

The whisper echoed again.

"Help me... please... help me..."

Ju Ha's fingers hovered over the strings, but he didn't play. Instead, he listened, as if trying to understand what the voice wanted, what it was asking. But before he could focus on the sound again, another sound pierced through the air — footsteps. Soft, careful, almost hesitant.

Someone was in the building.

Outside the hall, Do Yoon had been walking in the cool night air, the faint rhythm of his drumsticks tapping against his backpack as he wandered the quiet campus. His practice had ended hours ago, but something about the stillness of the night called to him. The moon hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the grounds.