Chapter 102: The Band

It’s this anime? It came much later than I expected.

Luo Quan immediately recalled this wildly popular anime that had been banned in Huaxia; though various reasons prevented it from becoming a classic, analyzed from any angle, it was still worth watching.

I never expected Tokyo Ghoul in this world to still not have been aired—this must be one of the differences between the two worlds; not just Tokyo Ghoul, many other anime face similar delays.

“I’m Luo Quan. May I ask what you need from me?”

Tanaka Keita said loudly: “We want to use your songs as the OP and insert songs for our anime. Since Sony Corporation holds the exclusive distribution rights to your music, and the copyright is in your hands, we’d like to discuss business with you.”

Although Luo Quan already knew the answer, she still feigned confusion and asked: “You want to use my songs as the theme? You don’t need me to write new ones?”

“No!” Tanaka Keita said with absolute certainty. “‘Unravel’ from ‘Rite of Passage’ fits Tokyo Ghoul’s theme perfectly—especially the lyrics. They feel like they were tailor-made for our anime.”

Please forgive me for saying this, but I truly believe using this song as Tokyo Ghoul’s OP is absolutely perfect!”

“So it’s this song.”

“Unravel” was one of Luo Quan’s favorite anime OPs; when selecting tracks for “Rite of Passage,” she added it immediately. But later, considering the audience, she ultimately chose another version of “Unravel.”

This version of “Unravel” was softer, with piano-only accompaniment and a gentle voice—the entire song’s style was melancholic yet refreshingly light.

But the lyrics proved unsuitable for this style; among the eleven songs in “Rite of Passage,” “Unravel” had the lowest discussion rate, and those who liked it were mostly middle and high school students in their second puberty—its audience remained small.

Yet now, the Tokyo Ghoul animation team instantly fell for this obscure, low-heat song—and rejected all others. This confirmed one saying:

“All encounters in this world are reunions after long separations.”

Deeply aware of the power of the worldline correction principle, Luo Quan dared not defy this fated will and gladly agreed.

Though it was only for Tokyo Ghoul’s first season as OP and insert songs, and she received little in copyright fees, Luo Quan was still very happy to see it bound to Tokyo Ghoul and continue shining—she didn’t particularly care about the money.

After finalizing the deal, Luo Quan entrusted San Mu to sign the relevant contracts for her; after all, he was a professional, and having him sign made it harder to be cheated.

This minor incident brought no turbulence to Luo Quan’s life. The next day, she handed copies of the sheet music with filled-in lyrics to the band members.

“I’ve already applied for copyright, so don’t worry,” Luo Quan said as she distributed them.

Yasu Anzou scratched his head awkwardly, and everyone smiled at him—though there was no malice in their smiles.

“All the lyrics are in English,” Yunjing Xiao flipped through the sheet music and found not a single Japanese word—every lyric was in English.

It’s said Japanese people have heavy English accents and pronounce some words strangely, but that applies to ordinary learners; Yunjing Xiao, as an elite student, certainly didn’t count.

Perhaps his accent once carried strong Japanese traits, but after entering Tokyo University, receiving corrections from foreign English teachers, and consciously adjusting himself, his pronunciation improved greatly.

He couldn’t match native Americans or Brits, but his accent issues were largely resolved—the rest would come gradually through more speaking and listening.

Overall, singing English songs posed no major problems; once the tempo increased, few could detect flaws. The key was still linking words and syllable omissions.

As for the melody, Yunjing Xiao tried playing the first song’s sheet music—it wasn’t particularly complex, yet melodious and easy to remember; within an hour, he’d memorized most of it.

But mastering it well required extensive practice; trying to perform it in two or three days was too difficult and would yield poor results.

Still, everyone was patient, practicing with their own instruments, while Luo Quan simply held her phone, filming the band members’ rehearsal routines as material for her Bilibili uploads.

At first, the band members felt a bit shy and hesitated to face the camera, but after several days, they seemed to have grown accustomed to it.

Especially Yunjing Xiao—he even treated Luo Quan like a journalist, viewing her filming as a personal interview. Whenever facing the lens, he instantly turned into a chatterbox, shamelessly boasting in creative ways, often leaving the practice room in fits of laughter.

And this was precisely the effect Luo Quan wanted: a joyful atmosphere made everyone more focused and excited.

Luo Quan also took time to carefully edit the videos she’d shot over these days into a ten-minute clip.

With a light background track added, she uploaded it to Bilibili.

Immediately after posting, fans flooded the comment section:

“Four days without updates—finally!”

“Lovemusic Band’s daily life? Has Luo Quan joined a band?”

“That guy on the cover is so hot—can you tell us his name?”

“Is he Luo Quan’s boyfriend?”

“I’m broken!”

“Don’t scare me!”

A group of male fans, nervously, clicked open the video.

The video showed no face of Luo Quan—the camera shook constantly toward the ground, then her voice came:

“Today is the second day of our Lovemusic band’s formation. To prepare for the Koma Campus Festival music competition in a month and a half, I spent one full day writing two songs as our competition pieces.”

Luo Quan shook the brown folder in her hand, her tone as calm as water.

Bullet comments:

“See? Geniuses are just different.”

“I’m a machine without emotion, just writing songs.”

“Wrote two songs just for the competition.”

“Spent one whole day…”

“I couldn’t even learn two songs in a day—she wrote two in one day…”

“No surprise—the quality must be off the charts.”

“I’m curious about the band members!”

The camera shifted—Luo Quan entered the Aileshe practice room, opened the door, and found Yunjing Xiao just finishing his guitar playing, sitting on a chair resting.

“Let me formally introduce to you—our Lovemusic band’s leader and lead vocalist, Yunjing Xiao…” Before Luo Quan finished, Yunjing Xiao stood up and stepped right into the frame:

“Also the honorary president of Tokyo University’s Aileshe!

This video is going on Bilibili, right? I can already see those lovely fans through the lens—seeing such a handsome guy like me, aren’t you all stunned?”

Luo Quan was speechless: “President, your self-admiration has reached a level of complete obliviousness.”

“Members, shout out loud—isn’t I handsome?!” Yunjing Xiao turned to face the Aileshe members, arms raised, radiating confidence.

“Not handsome!” the members answered in perfect unison.

“What?!” Yunjing Xiao was crushed, his expression deflated: “People today are so dishonest—is it really that hard to admit I’m handsome?”

A suddenly interesting boy appeared—the bullet comments exploded:

“This leader is hilarious, 23333.”

“The members are cooperating perfectly—just in reverse.”

“He’s actually quite handsome, but that mouth ruins it (emoji).”

“Is this a Tokyo University senior? He looks so clean and fresh.”

“I’m jealous.”

After laughing, Luo Quan said to the camera: “Alright, that’s just our band’s comic relief. Now let me introduce Lovemusic’s true visual centerpiece!”

She turned the camera toward Anzou Yasu, who stood there looking innocent.

“Luo Quan, if you praise me like this, the president will beat me up.”

If the bullet comments had been rolling when Yunjing Xiao appeared, they went into full-screen flood the moment Anzou Yasu came into view:

“My god, so handsome!”

He’s blushing—such an utterly adorable little puppy, just my type!

“This is my ideal Japanese boyfriend—perfect beyond perfection.”

“Is he the guy on the cover?”

“This face wipes out most domestic pretty boys.”

“That slightly melancholy gaze—I’m completely hooked～～～”

Undoubtedly, the flood was mostly from girls, though some uniquely flavored boys joined too—after all, Bilibili was China’s largest LGBTQ+ community, where “philosophy” was the most popular subject.

After the girls came the boys’ turn to voice opinions—and their perspectives were often sharper than the girls’:

“Such a delicate girl (emoji).”

“If Luo Quan hadn’t said he’s male, I couldn’t tell his gender.”

“At first glance, he looked exactly like a girl—his eyes and expression!”

“Ah, pity he’s a guy…”

“But isn’t that even better?”

“Old gay.”

“He has serious cross-dressing potential—makeup him and he could debut right now…”

“New weird knowledge acquired.”

“I always feel out of place because I’m not weird enough.”

Boys simply didn’t care about gender—they only cared if the face was pretty.

Luckily, Anzou Yasu couldn’t see these bullet comments—if he could, he’d either be terrified or blush to death.

Next, Luo Quan introduced the two girls in the band—Kamiya Suzune and Miyano Natsuko—two different styles: one full of energy, the other cold and reserved—but both had great looks and received plenty of positive bullet comments upon appearance.

Lovemusic Band’s first video seemed to have received a decent response.