Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Three Songs

After taking a taxi home, Luo Quan, drenched in sweat, rushed into the bathroom and took a cold shower—don’t tell her hot water is better for the body; in the sweltering summer, she loved the piercing chill that made every inch of her skin contract tightly.

The only thing she found slightly unnatural was her long hair; previously, she’d always had a buzz cut, washing it and drying it with a towel was enough, but now washing her hair alone required three steps—conditioner, shampoo, conditioner—like an Oreo cookie—and after washing, blow-drying took nearly seven or eight minutes.

Previously, Luo Quan could go from undressing to dressing in a bathroom shower in no more than fifteen minutes, even squeezing in a karaoke session in between; now, after half an hour, she barely finished, and the thought of spending this much time every day made her seriously consider cutting her hair into a buzz cut again.

After her shower, Luo Quan turned on her phone’s recording function and sang “Lemon” in full, then watched the recording through completely.

Her vocal ability was decent; the Beginner Singing Specialization had raised her skill to Grade B, equivalent to a graduate of a vocal program, and with her natural vocal hardware, she had no issues with pitch drift or unstable breath control.

But the video’s quality was still terrible—the audio was unclear, occasional noise crept in, and the video resolution was pathetic, barely reaching 720p, truly pitiful.

But there was no help for it; while the iPhone 6s was still a powerhouse among phones at this time, professional equipment was needed for decent video and audio recording—if she could switch to Apple’s upcoming iPhone 7, it might improve, but she simply couldn’t afford it.

She opened YouTube and uploaded the recording to her personal channel.

Izumi uploaded video successfully!

A system notification appeared at the top of the screen; seeing this nickname, Luo Quan smiled faintly—what a gentle name.

After uploading the video, there was still a review delay, so Luo Quan closed her eyes and spoke with the system: “System, have I leveled up yet?”

“No, the host remains unknown.” The system then moved Luo Quan’s level into her field of vision.

Previously, “unknown” had been white; now it had turned red—she guessed a little more heat value would trigger a level-up.

“By the way, the quest system has been updated. Suggest the host check the new quest requirements before browsing the mall.”

“Another quest already? Can’t you even let me catch my breath?” Luo Quan frowned and glanced at the quest interface.

[Beginner Quest: Gain 100 heat value before midnight tonight (completed). Reward: One random celebrity binding card.

Advanced Quest: Dominate the top three of the Oricon charts for at least four consecutive weeks. (If no song enters the top three within one month, quest automatically disappears.) PS: No penalty for failure.

Mandatory Restriction Quest: From now on, the host must not sign any contract with any company under an artist identity.]

The beginner quest was complete, and two new quests had appeared; luckily, she no longer had to worry about being forced to debut in Kabukicho due to quest failure.

But this advanced quest was brutally demanding—it demanded she dominate the top three of the Oricon charts for at least four weeks straight.

On Japan’s most authoritative music chart, Oricon, it was rare for a single singer to hold all three top spots, and even when it happened, it was impossible for a grassroots singer like her to achieve.

Although with the quality of the songs she currently possessed, signing with a major agency and launching a strong marketing campaign might make this possible, the mandatory restriction quest had completely shut that path off.

That meant she could only rely entirely on herself and her fans’ promotion; frankly, Luo Quan felt deeply uncertain.

“If I could buy better equipment in the mall to improve user experience, the chance of completing the quest might increase significantly.”

With this thought, Luo Quan opened the system mall and glanced briefly—then her face fell in disappointment.

The mall’s goods were dazzling, covering everything from real to virtual items, and there were plenty of recording and filming equipment—but not a single item she could afford; the cheapest cost at least 100,000 heat value, and she didn’t even have enough for a fraction of that.

Helplessly, Luo Quan shifted her gaze to other sections; after a while, she noticed a pattern: items that could manifest in reality were absurdly expensive, while things like songs and celebrity binding cards were much cheaper—perhaps changing the world cost far more heat value than changing just her.

Still, even the “cheap” songs weren’t cheap; high-quality songs like “Lemon” cost around 1,000 heat value, while other similarly popular earworms cost less than one-tenth of that.

In Japan, these earworms had no real use, so Luo Quan skipped them; after careful consideration, she exchanged 2,000 heat value for two popular Japanese songs.

One was “Hanabi,” which, like “Lemon,” was by the same artist, and its story unfolded in summer—perfectly fitting the season.

The other song was one she had hesitated over for a long time before finally choosing: “Boku ga Shi niou to Omoatta no wa,” translated as “When I Thought of Ending My Life.”

This song was arguably the most legendary Japanese song of the past decade; before 2012, Japan saw over 30,000 suicides annually, ranking highest in the world.

After this song’s release, Japan’s suicide rate plummeted sharply, sparking widespread attention and discussion across Japanese society—it held extraordinary significance for the entire nation.

In this world, Japan was identical to her past life: cold social relations, severe aging, heavy pressure on youth, and a suicide rate even higher than before; Luo Quan felt such a song was needed to inspire people.

Of course, she also had personal motives—given Japan’s unique social environment, this song’s meaning would likely make it explode in popularity, making it the perfect choice to challenge the Oricon charts.

After spending 2,000 heat value, all information about the singing techniques, lyrics, composition, and arrangement of the two songs flooded into Luo Quan’s mind; she opened her eyes and opened her YouTube homepage.

The video had uploaded successfully; in just ten minutes, views had surpassed five thousand, and her subscriber count reached five hundred—most were viewers who had watched Kiyomizu Daisuke’s livestream.

The comment section now had dozens of new comments, mostly praising her beauty and singing voice, a few complaining about the video’s terrible quality, and the most-liked comment was from Kiyomizu Daisuke: “Incredibly beautiful song. Audio quality is average, but I’ve already started looping it.”

As a brand-new, unproven rookie, Luo Quan replied to each comment individually—mostly “Thank you for your support” and “Please spread the word”—this was her first time interacting with fans, she had no experience, so her replies were painfully repetitive.

In truth, Luo Quan truly loved this feeling of being adored and liked.

Having spent half her life as a penniless nobody, Luo Quan had always walked the streets looking like a person everyone despised; when mothers with children saw her, they’d immediately pick up their kids and walk away.

It was understandable—when a group of drunken men reeking of alcohol staggered toward you, anyone would avoid them. But from today on, her past, which had abandoned her, no longer needed her to dwell on it—everything was moving in a better direction.

After recording and uploading the two newly acquired songs, Luo Quan went to bed early, hoping that when she woke tomorrow, none of this had been a dream.