I Really Didn't Mean To Be The Saviour Of The World

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The next evening at seven o'clock, the Hemingway Bookstore.

Harrison Clark appeared in the reference book area of the bookstore.

During the day, when he was at work, he had already looked up online which books he should read for a complete beginner to start learning music composition from scratch.

He has to start from the beginning.

Ordinary people who study composition need to have a considerable degree of research on theoretical systems such as music theory, harmony, rhythm, and form, forming a cognitive intertwining of rationality and sensibility in their hearts, so that they can have a deep understanding of music and be able to write complete pieces.

With cognition, there must be emotions, rhythm, and structure...

These realms are too far away for Harrison Clark. He can't even read music scores, let alone compose independently.

But he's not in a hurry. Great things are accomplished step by step.

He doesn't plan to be a real composer. He is taking the standard answers to reverse the process of solving problems – much simpler than real creation.

He doesn't need inspiration; he just needs to be a carrier.

After soaking in the bookstore for two hours, Harrison left the bookstore with Basic Music Theory, Start Learning Composition from Three Strings, Learn Guitar from Zero Basis, and other reference books to solidify his basic knowledge, until the salesperson reminded him of closing time.

He also bought a poor-quality guitar for 300 yuan online, which would take another two or three days to arrive.

When he returned home, it was already past nine in the evening, and Carrie Thomas had long since left her apartment upstairs.

Harrison temporarily abandoned the idea of getting closer to Carrie, and decided to rely on himself instead of trying to stick to her.

Unconsciously, a month had passed.

At half-past eight in the evening, Harrison Clark clenched his teeth and fiddled with the guitar strings in his room.

The noises were intermittent, completely out of tune, and without any rhythm to speak of.

Beads of sweat the size of beans sprouted from Harrison's head, slid down his cheeks, and dripped onto the floor.

He gritted his teeth, his expression slightly ferocious.

He never thought learning a musical instrument would be so difficult.

The musical symbols in the basic sheet music were basically recognizable; he could barely memorize them in his heart. But the performance was simply unbearable.

After enduring a few more minutes, Harrison threw the guitar on the bed and lay down, staring blankly, feeling lost.

This was the fiftieth time he had wanted to give up in nearly thirty days.

An adult's way of thinking has been set, and a lack of artistic taste makes it very difficult to learn music from scratch.

If you have no talent, even if your eyes understand, your ears remember, and your heart thinks you can, your hands won't.

During these days, Harrison slept only four or five hours a night.

He had to work during the day, and he couldn't afford a teacher, so he could only learn by himself at a low efficiency during his spare time at night.

Too little sleep left him listless during the day.

Harrison felt that if he went on like this, he might work himself to death before he even had a chance to plagiarize a song.

What's even more frustrating is that as time went on, the classic melodies and lyrics he had barely remembered were gradually fading away.

Apart from the song "Boring" whose lyrics he wrote at the beginning, he couldn't remember any of the other songs' full lyrics.

Worse still, even for the song "Boring," he couldn't remember the whole melody, only the catchy chorus part.

The harder he tried to recall, the faster the memories ran away.

The more he racked his brains to figure it out, the more empty-handed he became.

Memory was like sand in his hand; the tighter he held it, the more it slipped through his fingers.

If only he hadn't considered the fact that he would need to copy those songs when he listened to them in his dreams.

At that time, he would have hummed along a bit more if he had thought about it.

"Sigh, maybe by the time I learn, I will have forgotten everything?"

If only time could flow backward and give him another chance to "dream," Harrison felt he would cherish it even more.

From the start, he would have had to work hard and practice diligently, striving to use a year's time to steal a few songs, even if by rote memorization.

Unfortunately, not only had the dream ended now, it had shattered as well.

Harrison chuckled bitterly, muttering to himself, "Never mind, never mind. What's meant to be will be; what's not meant to be cannot be forced. I won't practice anymore!"

He suddenly sat up straight, grabbed the guitar, and strummed it wildly, wishing he could snap the strings.

After all, Carrie must not be at home right now, so no one would be disturbed by him.

If it weren't for the fact that their biological clocks were completely off, Harrison really wouldn't dare practice in his room.

Unexpectedly, thirty seconds later, he heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs outside his door.

Thump, thump, thump.

Harrison's door was knocked on heavily.

Opening the door, Carrie Thomas, wearing a light blue nightgown and a messy bun, stood in the doorway, her beautiful and sleepy eyes staring angrily at Harrison.

Her pajama collar was slightly lower than usual, and Harrison didn't dare look too much.

To his surprise, Carrie was still at home.

"What are you trying to do in the middle of the night?! Do you want me to sleep or not?!"

Harrison awkwardly waved his hand, "I... I'm learning to play the guitar."

"Who are you kidding?! I can tell you straight away that after listening to you play for five minutes, you have no musical talent! In plain terms, you can't even sing properly, and your sense of rhythm is a mess!"

After a month of diligent practice, Harrison knew that Carrie's words were absolutely true.

Though what Carrie said was true, but it was still insulting. It was infuriating to be so bluntly reprimanded.

He wanted to say something to save face, but found it difficult to open his mouth.

Carrie spoke again, her tone softening, even pleading, "Please, can you just stop playing? I finally managed to get some time off to catch up on sleep. Just leave me be."

Seeing her tone improve a bit, Harrison was about to agree, as he had planned to give up anyway.

However, she added, "I'm begging you on behalf of your guitar, too. Please stop playing it. Even though it's cheap, being played like this is just too cruel for it. Why don't you just set it on fire and let it rest in peace, alright?"Hiss...

Harrison Clark nearly gasped at the bottom of his heart, "Wh...at..."

That was a cruel remark.

Even knowing that she could become a contemporary Beethoven, Harrison really wanted to slap her. freewebn(o)vel.com

Carrie Thomas didn't give him a chance to burst out, and turned back upstairs, "Anyway, don't blame me for not warning you. If I hear that noise again, I will definitely complain about you!"

She then slammed the door shut again.

Downstairs, Harrison was so angry that he was choking, his heart filled with hatred.

But he had no choice, after all, his job was to manage the apartment, and dealing with neighborhood noise disturbances was part of his responsibility, especially since he was the one making the noise.

If Carrie Thomas complained, at least half a month's performance bonus would be deducted.

Harrison wanted to say something like, "Thirty years on the east side of the river, thirty years on the west side of the river, never bully a poor young man, sooner or later there will be a time when you need my help."

But when he thought of the miserable self-study experience in the past month, he was even more depressed.

It seemed like there was no chance for him to redeem himself.

Forget it, that's it.

That night, Harrison tossed and turned in bed for nearly two hours before finally falling into a difficult sleep.

...

"Private Harrison Clark! Step forward!"

Harrison suddenly opened his eyes.

The hazy sunlight was a little unusually dazzling.

Looking around, it was a vast, boundless square.

In the distant sky, some cone-shaped flying vehicles were taking off at varying speeds.

Up close was a familiar, yet strange, square face simpleton.

The owner of the square face was glaring at him with a murderous look.

Same place, same person, same furious gaze.

It was exactly the same as at the beginning of the dream a month ago.

Harrison was lost in a momentary trance.

Am... Am I dreaming again?

After a month, have I entered that dreamscape again?

And I'm still a reservist private?

Even the first sentence of the instructor, Daniel Thompson, waking me up is exactly the same!

What... What's going on!

"Are you still daydreaming? Go run ten laps around the playground!"

Daniel Thompson's deafening roar sounded in Harrison's ears.

Harrison shuddered, even the lines about running laps were the same.

Last time he dreamt, Harrison didn't run the laps right away, but stood there dazed, asking who I am, where am I, what are we doing, and why should I run laps.

As a result, ten laps turned into twenty laps, and he almost died on the playground from exhaustion.

This time, Harrison was clever, saluted quickly, and then turned around and sprinted to the playground track.

At the same time, he glanced at the electronic clock on the distant tower.

October 26, 3019, 8 a.m.

It's really this day again, back to the beginning of the dreamscape.

He was still clueless about the situation.

Why am I having the same dream exactly one month later?

Why are the two dreams' beginnings exactly the same?

What does this dream mean?

Carrie Thomas's existence has already proven that the dreamscape is a real world. What does the ending of everyone dying mean then?

Am I really dreaming?

Or has my soul traveled thousands of years to this place?

But why can I go back again?

Why is the second dream a fresh start?

Has time reversed?

There are still countless questions in my mind that I can't figure out, but it doesn't prevent Harrison from quickly sorting out his thoughts.

If you can't understand something, don't think about it; just focus on the important things at hand.

At least it means I can really start over, and this time I won't waste time!

Feeling great, his running pace became much lighter.

That's right, this time he has to learn music well!

After a month of hard practice, he's still a noob.

What about practicing for a year?

Low-income people don't have to work, so they can focus on their own things!

And he can always refer to the original songs for comparison.

This dream came at just the right time.