The Evil Scientist is Too Competent

Milk-a Pokato’s first memory was of herself playing the violin. Considering that the typical self-awareness begins to establish around the ages of 4 to 5, this implies that she had been playing the violin even before then. Looking back on her proficiency during that time, it wouldn’t be strange to think that she had perhaps held a violin bow since birth.

Nevertheless, she found herself struggling.

“Squeak—!”

“…This isn’t going well.”

Milk-a burst into a snicker as she stared at the awkward movements of her hands and the strange sound emanating from the violin. Honestly, it was a sound she had never expected to come from her hands. She hadn’t produced such sounds even as a child—back when her hands and fingers were only about a third of their current size.

As she felt a dissonance between the techniques displayed by her memory and the skills she was currently exhibiting, Milk-a carefully glanced at the scientist. The person who had injected her with a suspicious substance, resulting in her current state.

“What exactly happened?”

“You said it wouldn’t matter if you gave up the violin, didn’t you? So it’s a reality now.”

“In other words, because I can’t play the violin, does that mean… I’m much better at playing the guitar instead? Is that what you’re saying?”

Milk-a held back the urge to question whether that made any sense as she looked at the scientist, who nodded lightly. Who exactly was this person before her? A scientist from an evil organization, someone who could easily take on several large cities, perhaps even a boss of a formidable organization—a bona fide S-class villain remaining as a mere member in this wicked organization.

This meant the man before her, lean as he was, could be of equal or greater significance than an S-class villain within the organization, which was enough to give her pause.

This was something said by a person of such distinction; there was no way she could treat it lightly as a lie.

“…Can I try playing the guitar?”

“Sure. Shall I provide you with a sheet of music?”

“Please.”

Thus, Milk-a picked up the guitar that Eight had brought her. Despite having never touched one in her life, her body remembered how to play it. It was as if she had practiced for decades.

─♬

The moment she started plucking the guitar strings, the Queen of Guitar was born. Upon finishing her performance, Milk-a realized she had become someone special and could leave her name etched in history.

* * *

When a person begins to learn something, that experience builds up in the nerves and neurons. Consequently, the body of a skilled individual undergoes a change in neural structure compared to that of a beginner.

This is precisely why a beginner, no matter how hard they try, cannot even keep up with a skilled person. The techniques of the skilled are manifested through movements from within rather than without. Merely mimicking the outer actions a hundred times would never allow someone to grasp the hidden true motions.

This was the reason Milk-a had become a master of the guitar instead of being able to play the violin at all. Her nerves and neurons had been completely rewired to reflect those of a guitar virtuoso.

‘Thankfully, there’s something similar that I could utilize.’

Though she’d never thought she could replicate such advanced technology from Earth, fortunately, this world housed extraordinary powers surpassing earthly science: superpowers. The gene entity created during the research into these superpowers succeeded in altering Milk-a’s neural structure. She had been the first clinical trial subject.

‘If this were attempted on Earth, they would have immediately faced ethical scrutiny or imprisonment for over a decade, unable to even dream of this line of work for the rest of their life, all for not having received authorization for something guaranteed to succeed with no side effects.’

Compared to Earth, this world was remarkably convenient. All of those ethical procedures and FDA approvals could be circumvented merely due to someone being a villain. Of course, there were still some limitations in place, but…

“—Now let me see if I can recommend any talented individuals.”

Though Milk-a learned a few things about guitar and rock band sheet music, it wasn’t enough. A rock band is fundamentally a cultural chemical reaction, an explosive engagement achieved through the synergy of many.

By oneself, it was impossible to generate a significant response. While there were stars capable of making waves on their own, such talent was not hers.

What could it be? If she had that much talent, there would have been no need to come to me, complaining that she wanted to be something special. If she could achieve such greatness on her own, then she wouldn’t even need my help. It was precisely because she lacked such talent that she came to me whining.

‘Even without great skill, I can modify things like this. If she just has some perseverance…’

While searching for suitable band members for Milk-a, I realized that she had already found all the members herself and had even discerned the uniqueness of the band.

Could such determination really arise merely from wanting to leave her name in history? Could she possibly have perceived the band’s uniqueness on her own, something beyond the norm in this world?

“Haha— yeah, a band only needs one star.”

The band’s uniqueness was that, aside from the main vocalist and guitarist, other members easily became mere supports.

In other words, she could fill the band with all supporting members except herself.

* * *

After gaining her astonishing guitar skills, the very first thing Milk-a did was search for band members. According to the sheet music Eight had handed over, she needed at least three members: a bassist, a drummer, and, if possible, a pianist—four companions in total.

Fortunately for her, being a prodigy of the Pokato family, a renowned violinist in the artistic community, she hadn’t lost the connections she had made, even after losing her mastery of the violin.

She quickly contacted acquaintances she knew. Normally, she would have ignored them, dismissing their inferior musical tastes, and would never have considered reaching out to such people.

“—You want to form a band?”

“Miss, are you tired of the violin?”

Indeed, while her friends promptly gathered at her request, they didn’t immediately accept her proposal. Who was Milk-a? Wasn’t she the most famous violinist in her twenties? It wasn’t something they could easily believe—a serious commitment to forming a band.

Milk-a didn’t have the time to delve deep into explanations about losing her violin skills, acquiring guitar skills in return, or how this band would be something she was dedicating her soul to. There simply wasn’t time for that.

Instead, she performed a song. One of the numerous band songs she had received from Eight, her favorite.

“—What do you think?”

“……Whoa—.”

“What’s this—?”

“I thought you were only a genius with the violin…”

Milk-a grinned at her acquaintances’ reactions to the song she had just performed. She didn’t mention that this skill had come in exchange for her violin prowess; there was no need to.

Fortunately, it seemed that her friends accepted her sincerity about the band after hearing her guitar skills.

The problem was that, despite forming the band, there was no venue to perform right away. For starters, Milk-a’s fame was far too great. If she officially announced her intention to form a band, the Pokato family would surely intervene. They’d have to take action to hinder her, to assert control.

“How do you plan to perform? You know they’ll interfere…”

“I know. I know they’ll put up obstacles.”

“So how are you…?”

“—It doesn’t matter. Let them interfere if they want.”

“What?”

Before she could even ask what that meant, Milk-a provided her answer.

“The one who taught me this said…”

“Rock and roll is music of rebellion. It’s a flutter towards freedom. Such interference from a family is something I won’t bother about.”

“Do whatever you want,” she declared.

That is what music is for. And she had received the means for that as well. Milk-a pulled out the mask she had received from Eight.

─A mask proof of being a member of an evil organization.

“The performance is tonight.”

“……Tonight? But we haven’t practiced!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

As long as she did well, that was all that counted.

So Milk-a declared. Thus, the villain who sings made her debut to the world.

* * *

[—Listen to my song!]

Late in the evening, I found Milk-a singing loudly on the street in front of a building and couldn’t help but smile as I listened to her sing. While she had never created the talent for singing, it seemed she was a natural at it.

Though it was a noisy song, it resonated within people’s hearts as well. Listening made one feel uplifted; it almost felt as if it contained some supernatural power…

“—Excuse me, Scientist!”

“Hmm?”

While I was listening to her song, Ayle dashed over to me with a request, having evidently picked up some rumors.

“C-can you make me a pill to study well…?”

“That won’t work.”

“W-why not!? That person received it without any price…!”

Pausing for a moment at Ayle’s tone, as if she were handing over an item to someone, I faced her and responded.

“Well, that person must have paid a price.”

“W-what do you mean…?”

“Or what? Do you want to become extraordinarily good at everything for free?”

“Y-yes! Surely, if it’s you, Scientist, such a thing would be possible?”

“Of course, it’s definitely possible.”

I wore a villainous grin as I scanned Ayle from head to toe. Whatever she sensed from my intense gaze, Ayle flinched, startled.

“First, since your legs are slow, we’ll have to amputate them and give you prosthetic legs.”

“……Huh?”

“Your organs create nothing but waste, so we’ll remove them, and instead of your dull brain, I’ll implant the latest model circuits so you’ll remember anything…”

“W-wait—!”

“Is this what you want?”

“……N-no, I made a mistake.”

After giving Ayle a light flick on the forehead, I returned my attention to the music coming from outside.

In that small research lab, while listening to rock band music, I felt a long-lost sense of nostalgia, as if I had returned to Earth after a long time.