Chapter 38: Celebration

"Congratulations, Izumi-san, your album sales have surpassed one million!"

At the banquet, Miki popped the champagne cork, and the amber liquid gushed out, prompting everyone at the table to applaud and cheer.

Luo Quan wore a simple T-shirt and jeans today, her lovely face beaming with smiles: “This album’s success is thanks to all of you—without your help, I could never have achieved this. Thank you all!”

Saying this, Luo Quan stood up and bowed deeply to everyone; she rarely performed such a formal gesture, but perhaps living in Japan for a while had made her a bit more accustomed to local customs.

Ishimura, sitting across from her, laughed heartily: "Izumi-san, you're being too modest—everyone can see your talent; we've only done the basic groundwork."

By the way, how’s progress on your first full album? The company is placing great importance and high expectations on it.”

“I’ve already composed more than half, but it’ll take a little longer to finish everything.”

Ishimura nodded: "Mm, don't rush. The hype around 'Izumi' is still strong—quality matters most. If you run into any problems with work or life, just let Miki know. If I can help, I will."

After the leader finished speaking, the celebration banquet officially began, and dishes fragrant with aroma were brought out by waitstaff.

This was Luo Quan’s first time dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant; many dishes were unfamiliar to her, but the flavors were truly excellent.

Although she was allergic to all seafood and freshwater delicacies and thus missed out on the most exquisite dishes, the remaining ones were more than enough for her to enjoy.

After the meal, Ishimura pulled Luo Quan aside to offer a few words of encouragement, promising benefits like increased media support and a modest raise in contract royalties—aiming to deepen her loyalty to the company.

As one of Sony Records’ key executives, Ishimura was always generous—he never started talks about ideals before meeting an artist’s financial needs; everything else was nonsense.

Afterwards, Luo Quan picked up a stack of freshly packed dishes and got into Miki’s car.

These were specially prepared by the restaurant at her request—there were two hungry mouths waiting at home, and if she returned empty-handed, Wen Xia would surely scold her for betraying her duty.

It took her exactly twenty days to break one million sales on this album—just one day short of Hoshino Sakura’s record. A pity.

But Luo Quan wasn’t too concerned; once her second album dropped, records like these would become meaningless.

As of now, the 'Izumi' mini-album has sold nearly 1.1 million copies, certified as a diamond album, with projected total sales reaching around two million—two diamond certifications.

Such results might not have seemed extraordinary in the past, but recently, they rank among the top-selling albums.

Japan’s music scene has been in a lull these past years; its once-second-largest music market was flooded with chart-topping songs from boy and girl groups, their quality far inferior to earlier eras.

Although each album or single still sold tens of thousands, everyone knew how inflated those numbers were.

Someone—some “genius”—invented this “buy albums to unlock perks” campaign: two copies get a signature, ten get voice messages, a hundred get exclusive videos—so some wealthy fans bought a thousand or two at a time!

This phenomenon has now become standard in Japan’s music industry, yet even under these conditions, albums breaking one million sales remain rare—proof of how highly the public values Luo Quan’s mini-album.

She should even thank Avex Music—those fools set their own rhythm, got exposed within a day, damaged her reputation slightly, but boosted her popularity severalfold.

After the truth was cleared up, whether out of guilt or fan-driven celebratory buying, her album sales actually surpassed previous levels, and until just yesterday, sales growth remained positive.

Perhaps this is what they call misfortune hiding fortune—but Luo Quan herself would prefer fewer such misfortunes.

After a ten-minute drive, Luo Quan arrived at the building.

At the apartment door, as Luo Quan inserted her key, the door flew open—Wen Xia stood there like a maid waiting for her mistress, eyes glistening with tears, lips glistening with saliva: “Luo Luo, I’m starving to death!”

Luo Quan pulled the bag from behind her back: “Here, dinner’s ready!”

Wen Xia took a deep breath: “Wow, so fragrant!”

“It’s Michelin-starred food—of course it’s fragrant.”

“Again Michelin?” Ryouji Juniko walked over, her face covered in a face mask.

Luo Quan sighed: “Again Michelin? Did you used to eat at fancy restaurants often?”

Juniko peeled off her mask and shook her head: “Not really, but my family had a chef who used to be head chef at a three-star Michelin restaurant.”

Luo Quan smirked: “Then you must’ve been terribly deprived—I packed food from a one-star Michelin restaurant.”

Juniko smiled: “Actually, I think your fried rice with eggs tastes better—I tried it once and still crave it. Could you cook some for me sometime?”

“Too busy right now—the company’s pushing me for a new album. I’ll think about it later.”

Wen Xia paused mid-chopstick, startled: “Another album in less than a month?”

Luo Quan lied smoothly, without blinking: “Some songs were written earlier; I added a few more recently—enough for a full album.”

Wen Xia’s tone turned sour as if she’d bitten a green lemon: “I envy you geniuses with endless inspiration—you just pick up a pen and songs flow. Us ordinary folks strain for a month and still can’t produce anything half as good.”

Luo Quan soothed gently: “Everyone has their specialty—you’re the team leader, your strength is singing and dancing. I can’t match you there.”

Juniko asked curiously: “If you already have new songs, why haven’t you responded to the online comments?”

“What comments? Is someone slandering me again?” Luo Quan had been reading and barely gone online—she didn’t know what had happened.

Wen Xia shook her head: “No one’s attacking you—they’re all praising you. But… you should check Twitter yourself.”

Luo Quan frowned and opened Twitter, scrolled a bit—her name wasn’t trending.

“My name isn’t trending?” Luo Quan looked at Wen Xia in confusion.

“Look at the first post.”

“Chris Suzuki nominated for Best DJ in America!” Luo Quan paused, clicked in, skimmed the comments, and immediately understood.

Chris Suzuki, like Hoshino Sakura, is a Japanese-American, but he’s always developed in the U.S.—not only a DJ but also a designer who’s collaborated with countless fashion brands. His music is uniquely personal, and his mixing skills rank among the best in American music; he’s ranked ninth in this year’s World’s Top 100 DJs, known as the King of Trendy Electronic Music!

Like China, Japan, despite being a developed nation, still harbors some white admiration; for a Japanese-American to hold such status in the “lighthouse nation’s” music industry is absolutely something to boast about—even though Chris Suzuki had never set foot in Japan during his first twenty years.

Recently, Chris Suzuki’s nomination for Best DJ in America caused a stir in Japan’s music scene. Though he ultimately didn’t win, merely being nominated proved his strength and status.

Interestingly, many comments under this trending post mocked the notion that Japanese citizens should focus on a musician who never writes Japanese songs, urging attention toward local young artists like Izumi.

Similar remarks were abundant, some from users with nicknames like "LoveIzumi" or "ForeverIzumi"—and heated arguments erupted.