Chapter 103: Firing the First Shot

“Are you ready, everyone?” Yun Jingxiao gripped his guitar tightly, a microphone stand standing before him.

“All set!” Luo Quan held a bass guitar and gave an OK sign.

A bit farther away, Yun Jingxiao’s friend from the photography club raised his thumb, signaling they could begin.

They had practiced these two songs for nearly a week—between classes, they only practiced songs, squeezing out almost all their spare time, even after returning home at night, the melodies still echoed in their minds as they closed their eyes to sleep.

“Let’s nail ‘Numb’ in one take!” Yun Jingxiao demanded, as if encouraging them; the band members’ gazes instantly sharpened.

Yun Jingxiao swung his arm and struck the electric guitar hard—the music erupted.

The entire band became a precise machine, its members the gears within, and as they played, the whole machine surged forward.

The intense, soaring music filled the activity room, followed by Yun Jingxiao’s singing, as if he poured every ounce of strength into it; whenever he opened his mouth and the electric guitar momentarily faded, the other members frantically moved their instruments to keep the song rich and passionate.

Especially Anshi Yu—he, holding drumsticks, was utterly transformed from his usual self; as soon as the music started, his head shook nonstop, his entire body pumped up like he’d downed a liter of adrenaline and couldn’t stop!

This was the state a rock musician should have! This was the atmosphere a rock song should have!

Lovemusic poured 200% effort and dozens of hours of grueling practice into the song, catalyzed by talent far beyond ordinary, pushing it to their absolute limit!

Though only slightly over three minutes long, after finishing, every member of Lovemusic was drenched in sweat, gasping for breath—they hadn’t expected a single song to drain them so completely.

Yun Jingxiao wondered: how did rock bands manage to sing for hours straight during concerts?

“How was the filming?” Kamiya Suzu asked the cameraman, full of anticipation.

“Excellent,” the cameraman replied, having struggled to suppress his trembling body throughout the shoot—it had been exhausting.

“Take a break, everyone! Get ready for the second song!” Yun Jingxiao bellowed, his voice still strong and full of energy.

……………………

That afternoon, Luo Quan uploaded the two completed songs to YouTube; since the video and audio were recorded separately, and additional sound effects required post-production, it took extra time.

The two songs were titled “Numb” and “Radioactive.”

As for why they uploaded to YouTube—it was to pursue an international path. Both songs were in English, with a pop-rock style popular in Europe and America; gaining traction wouldn’t be hard, and staying confined to Japan’s tiny market felt like a waste of talent.

Of course, Luo Quan would never say this aloud—others knowing would damage her image of humility and kindness; arrogance might be seen as individuality in the West, but in Asia, it was pure negativity.

Yet Luo Quan’s confidence wasn’t baseless—within six hours of uploading, both songs surpassed three million views.

Initial views came mostly from Luo Quan’s fame, but she had only written lyrics and composed the music; her vocals were just background. Fans had been slightly disappointed, but after listening, they had nothing but admiration.

No surprise—Luo Quan always delivered masterpieces!

After Luo Quan’s fans provided the foundational views and buzz, both songs rapidly climbed YouTube’s new releases chart, entering wider view.

YouTube’s users were overwhelmingly from Europe, America, and Latin America—essentially the Western world; very few Chinese used it, while Japan and Korea dominated.

Asian songs were generally unpopular on YouTube and never mainstream.

Korea fared better—recently, male and female idol groups had gradually gained a foothold in America, occasionally producing viral hits that sparked global imitation and covers; in cultural exports to the West, Korean K-pop had always been a pillar.

Japan’s music, clearly superior, could only reign within Asia; China’s music? Even less recognized abroad.

But this time, these two rock songs from a Japanese band conquered Western listeners, achieving a staggering 98% positive rating; both songs rose to the top of YouTube’s daily new releases chart, one after the other.

“Numb” was a fast-paced rock song with explosive melody, demanding a vocalist with immense energy to drive the atmosphere—the more frenzied the singing, the happier the listeners felt.

Yun Jingxiao nailed it perfectly. His hoarse voice singing Japanese ballads was like marrying while staring at Zhu Bajie—anyone would be terrified.

But singing passionate rock songs? It was nothing short of perfect harmony.

His wide vocal range allowed him to scream without losing tone, never worrying about cracking; his extraordinary lung capacity let him effortlessly use growls and roars to amplify the song’s intensity.

This was usually a task requiring two or three people—Yun Jingxiao did it all alone!

He was born to sing rock!

This was the conclusion Luo Quan reached after lying awake all night following her first meeting with Yun Jingxiao—his vocal physiology was exceptional. A good voice wasn’t about being melodious like a nightingale; it was about perfectly matching the song’s style—that was true talent.

The explosive views on YouTube were the world’s recognition, and in the West, home to countless rock bands, such recognition was especially precious; the comment section was almost entirely in English:

“Insane—I’ve never heard a rock song this high-quality this year.”

“Hard to believe this is live—his voice is so full of passion.”

“He sounds like a demon from hell—his screams give me goosebumps.”

“The guitar playing is also excellent—technically top-tier!”

“Did anyone notice the rest of the band? The drummer is so in sync.”

“The lyrics have attitude—I love this kind of deep reflection!”

“Hard to believe a Japanese band can sing English this well!”

The second song, “Radioactive,” was completely different from “Numb”—where the first was fiery, this one was dreamy and mysterious, with almost no electric guitar; the standout was the driving beat.

Anshi Yu’s arms never stopped moving, striking left and right like a machine; precisely because of this rigor, Luo Quan skipped adding drum programming in post-production.

Anshi Yu’s rhythm was as precise as if pre-programmed—unnervingly exact—and the cameraman, knowing his craft, frequently gave him close-ups.

Even so, Yun Jingxiao’s vocals remained fiercely powerful.

If “Numb” was roaring and screaming, “Radioactive” was suffocating passion—both involved shouting, yet Yun Jingxiao rendered them as two entirely distinct styles.

And compared to “Numb,” this song carried even greater power—the kind that resonated with the soul.

Its views and positive rating quickly surpassed “Numb,” and audience praise was even higher:

“Welcome to a new era—this is Lovemusic’s new era!”

“A hard rock song—I heard Rexue and redemption!”

“The arrangement and electronic production are brilliant—I sensed dystopian and post-apocalyptic vibes. Do you feel that too?”

“This is a song to savor—it may not shock you at first, but once you’re hooked, you can’t stop listening!”

“A genius producer, a genius singer, a genius band!”

“Every drum hit feels like it strikes my heart—Mom, I think I’m in love.”

“If they changed into stylish outfits, they’d go global!”

Two songs, rave reviews, explosive views—by midnight, total views exceeded ten million, with potential far beyond that.

Exploding on YouTube was just the first step; landing on Billboard was when they truly ascended.

Lovemusic had fired its first shot—and it surpassed expectations; Luo Quan hadn’t anticipated they’d go viral this fast.

If she weren’t herself a massive traffic magnet—anything tied to her drawing endless attention—these songs wouldn’t have blown up so quickly.

Luo Quan’s fans provided immense buzz, bringing more people to notice them; with rising attention and undeniable quality, their explosion was inevitable.

As the saying goes: silence until the moment you roar—and Yun Jingxiao’s roar catapulted him and his band straight onto trending lists.

He and the band appeared separately on search terms: “Yun Jingxiao” and “Lovemusic Band,” each with over 100,000 discussions.

YouTube’s comments were dominated by Westerners, while Japan’s Twitter was full of Japanese netizens, all wondering how this obscure band suddenly went viral on YouTube—besides Luo Quan, all four other members were complete unknowns.

And their musical skill wasn’t low—the lead singer Yun Jingxiao’s guitar playing reached professional levels, and his vocals stunned everyone.

As netizens dug deeper, details about the band members gradually surfaced.

They were all top students at the University of Tokyo, from the same club: Aileshe; each had strong musical ability, and under Luo Quan and team leader Yun Jingxiao’s initiative, they formed the band named Lovemusic!