Chapter 25: Keyboard Warriors

On the tenth day of Luo Quan’s album release, sales surpassed seven hundred thousand, with all three songs dominating the top spots on the charts and alternating rankings, and the countdown for the advancement task officially began.

If she could maintain this for four weeks, she would receive a mysterious reward.

But her explosive popularity stirred the interests of many singers, and one wave after another of damaging rumors about her began appearing across major online platforms.

Although she had long prepared for this moment, she hadn’t expected these people to be so impatient—already moving against her after just ten days.

Since Luo Quan had given few interviews and her personal history before debut was spotless, the paid trolls simply fabricated lies, spreading baseless exposés to smear her.

Overnight, numerous so-called insiders began posting on Twitter various alleged dark secrets from Luo Quan’s high school days, each story more bizarre than the last.

The most consistent claim was that Luo Quan had once been a delinquent girl in high school, closely tied to many yakuza, with a wildly promiscuous private life; she routinely insulted teachers, bullied classmates, and drank excessively—essentially embodying every vice imaginable.

Purity and kindness were central to Luo Quan’s public image after debut, but once these rumors spread online, her image teetered on the brink of collapse.

Worse still, many netizens believed these claims wholeheartedly and even joined the ranks of spreading the lies.

This was an era of entertainment unto death; most netizens had the universal trait of believing every rumor and delighting in chaos—they didn’t care about truth, only what they wanted to believe, flocking wherever there was a scandal.

Previously, Luo Quan had flooded the internet and attracted many fans, but as her popularity surged, she also drew intense dislike from a significant portion of people.

When someone appears too often, someone will inevitably grow tired—some were casual observers, others were fans of rival singers.

Just days ago, Luo Quan’s popularity was at its peak, with water armies and true fans dominating forums and social platforms, truly exhausting many people’s patience; now that an opportunity had arisen, wouldn’t those who disliked Luo Quan and her fans seize the chance to crush her?

But these were still manageable; aside from the trolls, these people still had some boundaries and didn’t speak especially cruelly.

But there was one group who spoke without restraint, uttering the most disgusting, bottomless insults, repeatedly shattering Luo Quan’s sense of morality.

These people had a unified name: keyboard warriors.

In real life, they looked no different from ordinary people, meek and submissive in every encounter, like model citizens.

But the moment they returned home, opened their computers, their combat power skyrocketed exponentially—they could rant endlessly about anyone or anything, employing every possible means to defame others.

No one paid keyboard warriors a salary; their online attacks were purely personal hobbies and outlets for their dissatisfaction with society and the world. Focused, they became experts, fully embodying the Japanese spirit of craftsmanship—craftsmen of slander.

Provoking such a group was a headache for every celebrity, especially in Japan, where some keyboard warriors didn’t just strike online—certain lunatics even acted dangerously in real life.

Recently, there was news: a Japanese professor had urged his students in class not to fear keyboard warriors and trolls, but to face them bravely.

While he stepped out to use the restroom, he was slashed across the throat by a troll who frequently attacked him online.

Moreover, vile incidents like idols receiving semen-covered hands at fan meet-and-greets or finding dead rats inside gifts were all too common.

Once stirred, this deranged group could cause consequences impossible to estimate.

The most direct manifestation was that Luo Quan’s album sales had begun to decline—though the drop was small, it was not a good omen.

Moreover, people online were already asking for Luo Quan’s address—a very dangerous signal. If her residence leaked, who knew what might happen? Worse still, even if she reported it to the police, no officer would take her case.

As for the trolls and blackers online, Luo Quan currently had no power to control them; Sony Records had tried some measures, but the results were minimal.

“These people are so cruel!” Yanagisawa Junko, watching the tweets slandering Luo Quan, was both furious and anxious.

She and Luo Quan had been classmates in high school; she knew better than anyone how Luo Quan truly was—how could she possibly be a delinquent? How could she bully classmates? It was always others who bullied them!

“How else could they be keyboard warriors?” Luo Quan’s expression was calm, as if she didn’t care at all.

Wen Xia asked curiously: “Aren’t you worried? At least post a tweet to clarify.”

“Mr. Lu Xun once said: Silence is the highest contempt. The more you respond, the more they escalate. Most of those slandering me don’t care about my so-called dark past—they just want to slander someone. Let them slander.”

Wen Xia exclaimed: “You’re surprisingly detached.”

Luo Quan shrugged: “What else can I do? In this era, typing carries no responsibility—can I arrest every liar?”

Wen Xia sighed softly: “True… the pure will remain pure; the truth will eventually come out.”

But Luo Quan had clearly underestimated the situation—instead of waiting for the truth to surface, she received an even more violent wave of damaging rumors.

That afternoon, Japan’s famous gossip magazine Weekly Bunshun published an article about Luo Quan on its digital edition.

It was a smear piece.

“Newcomer Luo Quan Insults Senior Colleague, Suspected Conflict with Hoshino Sakura.”

Below the headline were several photos: Luo Quan and Hoshino Sakura facing each other, both with hostile expressions; one photo clearly captured Luo Quan retracting the album she had just handed over—an action nearly tantamount to proof.

In Japan’s entertainment industry, disrespecting seniors was a grave offense, especially for a newcomer like Luo Quan—such arrogance would inevitably provoke widespread public backlash.

Worse still, Weekly Bunshun differed from other unscrupulous magazines that fabricated stories; this magazine’s gossip was often backed by solid evidence and never released without irrefutable proof.

Originally, Luo Quan’s fans and blackers had been locked in fierce battle, but once this article appeared, her fans fell silent—this rumor was nearly impossible to refute unless Hoshino Sakura herself publicly denied it.

Yet even now, Hoshino Sakura’s social media remained completely silent, and all the blackers seemed to have found their target, launching a furious assault on Luo Quan’s Twitter.

Under her latest tweet, the comment section was entirely overrun by blackers:

“Disgusting! Japan’s music industry doesn’t need new talents like this—talented but devoid of virtue!”

“The best way for her to atone is to quit the entertainment industry. We don’t want a Chinese person making money in Japan.”

“These are just meaningless whining songs—how could so many people idolize them? Obviously, those middle-schooler minds can’t be understood by normal logic; their idols are the same.”

Luo Quan scrolled to the bottom of the screen—every comment was an attack. Her previously calm mood grew uneasy.

It wasn’t the insults themselves that troubled her—it was the fear that her album sales would suffer. If this continued, the advancement task would likely fail.

Wen Xia came across the report again and said anxiously: “Luo Luo, did you really have a conflict with Hoshino Sakura?”

Luo Quan nodded: “There was some conflict, but I wasn’t at fault.”

Then Luo Quan recounted the full story to the two women. After listening, Wen Xia immediately frowned: “Could these people slandering you have been hired by Hoshino Sakura? Since her appearance on MS variety show, she’s been setting a trap for you—her goal is to ruin your reputation!”

“I don’t know. But in Japan, besides her, I haven’t offended any other celebrities.” Luo Quan took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, and dialed Miki’s number.

“Hello, is this Miki-kun?”

It’s me, Quanshui-san. The company is preparing a crisis PR response—please don’t panic. Don’t look at the online comments. We’ll handle everything.

Miki assumed Luo Quan was calling for help and rushed to reassure her.

But Luo Quan hadn’t called for that. “Miki-kun, do you have Hoshino Sakura’s phone number and home address?”

Miki paused, stunned: “W-why are you asking for that?”