Chapter 39: Omniscient

“A Chinese singer shouldn’t come here to latch onto Suzuki-kun, okay? He has pure Japanese blood, even if his nationality is American, while Luo Quan is a thoroughgoing Chinese person!”

“I’m not looking down on Luo Quan, but her songs can only be popular within Japan; many say she’s the leading figure in today’s Japanese music scene, but I think she can’t even match many veteran artists, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as Suzuki-kun!”

“Selling over a million copies with a debut is indeed a great achievement, but Suzuki-kun is someone who regularly appears on the Billboard charts!”

“Can anyone now be compared to Suzuki-kun? Fans of niche singers should just stay in their own little circles—how dare they post wild comments under news about a musician of Suzuki-kun’s caliber?”

The people saying these things were a mixed bunch: Chris Suzuki’s fans, Western music lovers who simply looked down on domestic music, and fans of other Japanese singers.

Yet their tone was strangely uniform: they all believed Luo Quan’s fans were bringing shame upon themselves by speaking here; a newcomer singer had no right to compare herself to Chris Suzuki, who was famous across America, especially since she was Chinese.

Luo Quan’s fans naturally disagreed, defending their idol, arguing that Suzuki’s songs had dull melodies and were painfully loud, even more niche than Luo Quan’s.

In the end, both sides claimed their own logic was right, and for a while, neither could gain the upper hand—until this comment appeared:

“Suzuki-kun’s song reached number one on the Billboard chart…”

This comment was a killing blow, instantly silencing every one of Luo Quan’s fans.

As America’s most famous and most prestigious chart, not just anyone could appear on Billboard, let alone claim a number-one single—this was a genuine, hard-earned honor for any musician, far surpassing the prestige of Japan’s Oricon charts.

While not making the Billboard doesn’t mean Luo Quan’s songs are bad—after all, Japanese songs have almost no market in the U.S.—but if they have it and you don’t, no excuse you offer is anything but an admission of inferiority.

This killing comment quickly rose to the top; the “victors” flooded the comments with messages expressing their delight, while also beginning to mock Luo Quan and her fans.

Luo Quan’s fans, seeing this, held their breath but couldn’t vent—there was nothing they could do; the other side had real honors, and they truly couldn’t compete.

Luo Quan herself wasn’t even angry—after all, bringing up herself under someone else’s news wasn’t appropriate.

She wasn’t even sure if the first person to mention her in the comments was actually her fan; in fan circles, fans and trolls were sometimes synonymous—the saying “one fan outweighs ten haters” wasn’t just empty talk.

Still, seeing her own fans suffer insults in the comments made her uncomfortable.

If she hadn’t seen it, fine—but since she had seen it, she couldn’t let her fans endure such humiliation.

People say you should support justice, not kin—but when real trouble comes, how many can truly stand on the side of absolute fairness? Luo Quan certainly couldn’t.

Soon she posted a tweet:

“I’ve also studied electronic music—I’ll have something ready for you on YouTube by tonight, if you’re interested, come listen.”

The tweet quickly drew a massive crowd of netizens.

Luo Quan’s fans overwhelmingly praised her talent, saying she could handle any genre effortlessly, truly a rising star in Japan’s music scene.

Meanwhile, onlookers remained skeptical: electronic music production wasn’t as simple as most pop music—it required combining multiple instruments and demanded high compositional skill; they didn’t believe an eighteen-year-old girl could produce anything impressive, and even if she managed a “trashy banger,” that’d be plenty.

Don’t look down on trashy bangers—making one catchy, addictive, and head-bobbing is still a skill, and such tracks are always in high demand at nightclubs.

But Luo Quan never fought a battle without preparation; if she was boldly inviting everyone to listen, she clearly had something ready.

This song wasn’t originally on her near-term plan, but since the moment had come, there was no point hiding it.

“You guys eat—I’m heading to the studio.” Since she hadn’t changed clothes yet, she walked straight to the entrance, slipping on her shoes.

Wen Xia heard her and knew instantly: her inspiration had struck again—her eyes filled with envy.

At the studio, Luo Quan first turned on the synthesizer to produce the electronic track’s intro.

A piano would’ve sounded better, but the studio didn’t have a piano, and she couldn’t play one anyway—spending heat value to swap for one would’ve been wasteful, so she simply synthesized a piano tone.

The song’s timbre wasn’t complex, and the melody was simple; by industry standards, its quality was low.

But this song was enjoyable.

Enjoyability was the most fundamental value of a song—discussing composition, timbre, or style meant little to ordinary listeners; if it was enjoyable, it would be popular—except for certain mindless pop songs.

The song Luo Quan prepared was unmatched in catchiness among electronic tracks: released five years ago, its YouTube views reached billions, making it a global phenomenon.

At its peak, you could hear it in the background of nearly every video, on every radio station’s playlist, and on every regional music chart—it was unquestionably the king of breakout hits!

This song cost more than any she’d exchanged before—she spent a full 50,080 heat value.

Previously, she’d sold everything to buy a Desert Eagle; if she hadn’t been gaining fans recently, she wouldn’t have had enough heat value for this song.

After payment, the production method of “Faded” instantly imprinted in Luo Quan’s mind, and she effortlessly crafted its instrumental.

Then came the vocals—the soul of this song lay in the female voice, that unique timbre being one of its greatest reasons for explosive popularity.

Luo Quan was confident in her own timbre, since it was similar to the original singer’s of “Faded”—but to make the song perfect, she’d need reverb.

Reverb, simply put, simulates the acoustic environment where the singer is recording, creating different effects. For example, singing dry won’t sound as good as singing in a bathroom against the wall—but singers can’t record in bathrooms; reverb software can simulate such environments.

Of course, there are many types of reverb, and today Luo Quan wouldn’t be using the bathroom type.

After nearly two hours of work, Luo Quan listened to the finished track—yes, identical to her past life.

After exporting it, she immediately uploaded it to her YouTube channel and posted a tweet:

“New song ‘Faded’ is here—I hope you all like it!”