Chapter 33: Shopping Can Land You on Trending

P.S. Thank you to the reader who donated the laughable coins!

Girls often go shopping just for the sake of shopping; actual spending is rare, since most items can be bought online at cheaper prices, making it unnecessary to waste money in malls.

Of course, this applies only to girls who live frugally—Wen Xia and Juniko are not among them; they buy everything in physical stores, especially cosmetics and clothing, rarely purchasing anything online.

But now they can’t be so careless: Wen Xia has terminated her contract with the company, and her two years of savings are nearly gone; Juniko ran away from home, and all her credit cards have been frozen—they can only sigh helplessly at the store’s items priced in the tens of thousands or more.

Luo Quan, however, has become the wealthiest of the three girls; royalties from her album sales are settled monthly and won’t arrive until mid-next month, but she hasn’t touched the exclusive licensing fee Sony paid her earlier.

That was twenty million yen—a sum sufficient to buy herself a full set of elegant attire at any luxury brand’s physical store; if she were like Wen Xia, a fashion-forward trendsetter, she’d already be carrying bags upon bags after an hour of shopping.

But now her hands hold only a steaming bowl of kantō-zuke, bought just now from a street snack stall—the taste is passable, but the portion is generous.

Luo Quan originally intended to treat Juniko and Wen Xia each to a portion, but Wen Xia, burdened by her idol image, refuses to eat while walking down the street, and Juniko, wearing an expensive dress, dares not eat such a messy, sauce-dripping food—so both politely declined Luo Quan’s offer.

Thus, in the bustling mall, Luo Quan walks in the middle, eating with grease on her lips, while Wen Xia watches, swallowing saliva repeatedly.

“Want a bite?” Luo Quan pulls out a skewer of takoyaki, the white, bouncy balls coated with a light brown sauce, emitting a rich, tempting aroma.

“No thanks!” Wen Xia firmly refuses, yet her eyes never leave the skewer.

“If you won’t eat, I will… Aowu …” Luo Quan bites into it—the texture is smooth, the meat springy, and she swallows it after just a few chews.

“That’s why you’re so burdened by your idol image—you live too tiredly. What’s wrong with eating takoyaki on the street? At home you pick your toes.”

Wen Xia blushes and explains: “That’s at home—anything goes there. But outside, who knows if paparazzi are filming you? One misstep, a bad photo gets taken, and you’re mocked openly or behind your back—or worse, your image collapses!”

Luo Quan shrugs carelessly: “You’re wearing sunglasses, aren’t you? Besides, where are the paparazzi in this mall?”

Wen Xia sneers: “You think sunglasses make you unrecognizable?”

Juniko adds: “You clearly don’t shop often, Quan-chan.”

Shibuya International Shopping Center is one of Tokyo’s busiest malls; many celebrities come here to shop, so it’s also packed with paparazzi.

These paparazzi secretly zoom in on any girl with a good figure wearing sunglasses. With our outfits, we’ve probably already been photographed dozens of times.”

Luo Quan frowns: “That sounds kinda weird… mall perverts?”

Wen Xia adjusts her sunglasses: “In a way, paparazzi are a kind of pervert—but they’re only interested in celebrities, and their methods aren’t as crude.”

Luo Quan shrugs: “Whatever. I’m just a singer—I don’t rely on my image.”

Wen Xia retorts bluntly: “If you don’t care about your image, why haven’t you dared to check Weibo even once?”

Luo Quan hesitates: “That’s… because the domestic environment is too toxic—I don’t want to argue with trolls… I didn’t delete Weibo because of that ugly photo!”

“What ugly photo?” Juniko asks curiously.

“I’ll show you something—probably the only copy in all of Japan,” Wen Xia grins like a sly fox, pulling up the saved photo on her phone.

Juniko glances at it—and her usually quiet face bursts into laughter like a motorcycle engine starting: “Puh-puh-puh-puh-hahaha! Quan-chan, I never knew you could open your mouth this wide! I’ve lived with you three years and never saw this—you could fit a fist in there!”

Luo Quan grits her teeth: “If either of you leaks this photo, I’ll break your bones with karate!”

While playing, time slipped unnoticed to noon. The three girls found a restaurant and enjoyed a full Japanese meal. Just after finishing, Miki called to say the move was complete.

The three returned to the new apartment—each girl’s clothes had already been placed in her assigned room, and each room had a soft, plush bed—finally, no more sleeping on the hard tatami.

As Luo Quan basked in the joy of her new home, at 1:30 p.m., she trended again.

The trending topic: “Shocking! Quan and her friends shopping, dressed provocatively!”

This is perhaps the most accurate headline ever—many passersby, curious, clicked in and agreed: Luo Quan’s outfit really was bold.

Netizens flooded the comments:

“Quan’s image management is terrible—she dresses so casually on the street, and she didn’t even wear makeup.”

“This look reminds me of a kind, simple old man from the countryside—just as plain, just as old-fashioned.”

“Didn’t Sony assign Quan a better stylist? Are they really that short-staffed?”

“Even with this awful styling, Quan is still beautiful and captivating.”

“Suddenly I remembered a Chinese poem: ‘Clear water, lotus bloom—natural, unadorned.’”

“Top comment is right—this poem describes Quan perfectly!”

……………………

The comment section turned into another round of fawning over Luo Quan, making her slightly embarrassed.

Everything is improving: album sales have climbed back to first place among Tongqi artists; her three songs dominate the top three spots on the Oricon chart, widening the gap over the fourth-place artist.

Meanwhile, the free release of “Myall” on YouTube has rapidly approached one million views; her YouTube and Twitter followers now exceed one million, growing by tens of thousands daily.

In another half month, she can begin preparing for her second album.

But a call from Hoshino Sakura made Luo Quan’s heart tighten.

“There’s been a problem in negotiations between the company and the Sumiyoshi-kai’s wakagashira—the situation is not good.”

“How is that possible? Sony is such a huge company—how can it not handle the Sumiyoshi-kai?”

In a capitalist country like Japan, capital often equals power—especially for a giant like Sony?

Hoshino Sakura sighs: “It’s complicated to explain, but the wakagashira made many outrageous demands—and some of them involve you.”

Luo Quan had been naive, assuming Japan’s situation was like Korea’s, where conglomerates could do as they pleased.

But in reality, compared to the arrogant, ruthless Korean chaebols, Japanese conglomerates are far more low-key—they prefer to lie low, and their leaders aren't chosen by simple family succession. Most importantly, they see themselves as Japanese and know where the line is.

So although everyone knows conglomerates exist, daily life rarely sees news about them.

The Yakuza, however, are different—they’re ruthless, desperate criminals. More importantly, the Japanese government recognizes their legality, making the Yakuza’s behavior notoriously brazen.

Even in the early 21st century, Yakuza factions frequently clashed; large-scale brawls involving hundreds were routine. Such a group of hardened men is one no conglomerate wants to provoke.

The Mitsui conglomerate behind Sony certainly isn’t afraid of the Sumiyoshi-kai—but the problem is that the target is an artist under the conglomerate’s company, and the one making the demands is the Sumiyoshi-kai’s wakagashira.

Dealing with a Yakuza boss of this stature is extremely complicated.

The company initially wanted Hoshino Sakura to apologize to the wakagashira and let the matter die down—but the wakagashira, humiliated because his men were arrested, insists that both Hoshino Sakura and Luo Quan come to his territory alone.

What might happen if two girls go to a Yakuza boss’s territory? No one can predict it—if they go, they’re likely walking into a lion’s den.

After learning the outcome, Luo Quan fell silent. Given the current situation, the company probably can’t handle this anymore—even Hoshino Sakura, a signed artist, is being forced to meet and apologize to this boss, let alone her.

What about calling the police? No—that won’t work either. Japan’s crackdown on Yakuza is far weaker than in China, and Japanese Yakuza aren’t internet trolls—call the police today, and tomorrow you might vanish.

In all her years, Luo Quan felt helplessness for the first time—no matter how skilled she was, she could do nothing against this predicament.

If she doesn’t want to leave Japan immediately, she must attend this banquet.

After long thought, Luo Quan, still clinging to a sliver of hope for a modern, harmonious society, finally surrendered: “Tell me the time and place.”

Hoshino Sakura’s voice was heavy and weary: “Tomorrow night at eight, Gokuraku Bar in the center of Kabukicho.”