Handing in the Paper

The deeply disappointed Chicagoans fled Detroit, that land of heartbreak, one after another. Old Joe and the others had to continue their promotional tour to Indiana, and Song Ya naturally had to return with Milla. Taking the opportunity before they parted ways, he pulled Tony aside so the brothers could have a heart-to-heart.

His reasoning was simple: he could afford to support helpers now, so there was no reason for his brother to keep acting as someone else's lackey.

Tony refused quite frankly. For one, he was used to being the boss of the original owner of Song Ya's body and didn't want to be bossed around by a younger brother whose personality had changed drastically after his transmigration. For another, the interactions between siblings after adulthood were never as frequent as in childhood; everyone usually lived their own lives. Of course, the main reason was that the "perks" of following Little Lowry, the singer, were better. He spent his days following Little Lowry to nightclubs and strip bars all over the United States, eating, drinking, and having fun, and occasionally picking up the "groupies" (a general term for girls who sleep with stars for fun) that Little Lowry left behind. Finally, he showed off his Gold Rolex and the AJ sneakers on his feet once again.

"Little Lowry and I are brothers, too," Tony said.

Song Ya couldn't force him; his main energy had to be focused on his single, so he could only let Tony go.

Another weekend, Grant Park in Chicago.

The moment for the first public appearance of FXXXYOU had finally arrived.

"I'm so nervous." Milla hid backstage, constantly peeking outside. "Why aren't they looking over here?" she asked.

Thousands of people had already gathered in the park plaza, and the number was still growing. They were finding spots in front of the stage, chatting, and waiting. The noise on-site was loud, the order was mediocre, and police officers and volunteers were struggling to maintain it.

"This isn't a music festival." Song Ya joked with a smile, "You're just a warm-up act, don't take yourself too seriously." He tried his best to ease Milla's mood.

At a civil rights rally, the speeches by political figures were the main event; the performances were just minor details. If someone played a wrong note or sang off-key, no one would even notice. The real fear was freezing on stage in a panic, which happened often during a newcomer's debut.

"We're up in an hour, everyone come here."

The promotional manager sent by SBK gathered the band and gave careful instructions. "We're scheduled after the Children's Choir. Once the kids leave the stage, Delay, you guys move the drum kit up. The conditions here are primitive, so we have to rely on ourselves for a lot of the work. There are volunteers to help, but make sure they don't bump or damage the equipment. You must check all the wiring before the performance. Milla..."

He pulled Milla to the edge of the stage, pointed to a camera below, and instructed, "Only this camera angle is our own people. Try to cater to it as much as possible when you perform. You have a great sense for the lens; I believe in you, don't mess it up."

"I understand, I understand." Milla nodded her head like a chick pecking at rice.

The scale of this rally was not small, and it would inevitably appear on major news media. How many shots of Milla they could squeeze in would depend on SBK's public relations capabilities and that one camera. It was the same old problem: a song with profanity was hard to present in polite society, so they had to take an unconventional path. SBK's promotional strategy was very professional.

Delay and the drummer kept taking deep breaths and stretching their limbs, occasionally jumping in place. The guitarist and bassist kept their heads down, silently fingering their strings to warm up their fingers. Although rock musicians always gave others the impression that they didn't care about anyone, how could these young people avoid being nervous under the immense pressure of becoming famous?

"Don't be nervous!" the promotional manager roared.

Everyone became even more nervous.

Song Ya was still a novice himself and couldn't offer much help. He could only pace around the five of them, patting one on the back and another on the shoulder, saying a few words of encouragement.

In the blink of an eye, there was only half an hour left until the performance.

A black soprano was singing on stage, and the clamor of the crowd gradually subsided as people's attention shifted to the stage.

"Come, let's touch up your makeup." Mrs. Jovovich had rushed back from Los Angeles, bringing a middle-aged female assistant with her. She watched the assistant touch up Milla's makeup and then took a small bottle of vodka out of her bag.

Relying on alcohol to get into the zone was never a good thing. Song Ya had gradually forbidden Milla from drinking during rehearsals; the Russian girl already had a high tolerance, and it wouldn't be good if she got addicted.

Milla looked at Song Ya.

"Today is important..." Song Ya thought for a moment and nodded in agreement. "Drink it, but this is the last time."

Milla took the bottle and tilted her head back to take a large gulp.

"She only listens to you now." Mrs. Jovovich felt a bit jealous.

Milla giggled and kissed Song Ya on the cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. "Touch up, touch up!" Mrs. Jovovich could only go off to order the assistant around.

The Children's Choir scheduled before them began their performance, a typical black gospel style. The audience below was very familiar with it, and many were singing along.

At this moment, everyone backstage stopped talking, silently waiting for the children to finish their performance and file off the stage under their teacher's guidance. Delay and the musicians hurried to grab the various components of the drum kit and got busy on stage.

"Next up, please welcome Milla Jovovich! She brings us... FXXXYOU!"

The emcee waited for Delay to finish tuning and announced loudly.

"I'm going on stage..." The alcohol was hitting Milla, and her face was flushed.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Milla went on stage. After all, it wasn't a concert, so there were no cheers; the people below just watched quietly.

Considering the conservative tendencies of the audience, she was dressed more like a country music singer today: jeans with a simple, crisp, plain-colored shirt, tied at the hem to show off her curves. Regarding the performance, Song Ya had specifically instructed her to put away the "Sexy Kitten" routine and just be natural and generous.

"Hello, everyone!" Milla, fueled by the alcohol, wasn't shy at all. She adjusted the microphone stand to a suitable position and greeted the crowd loudly.

"The camera! The camera!" The SBK promotional manager cupped his hands around his mouth and reminded her loudly.

"Hi~"

Milla immediately turned her body at a slight angle and smiled at the camera, turning on the charm.

The promotional manager breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God, that's good."

Song Ya shrugged. After all, Milla had been appearing on magazine covers since she was nine and entered the modeling world at eleven; she wouldn't forget something like this.

Milla turned her head back and gave Delay a look. Delay nodded, pressed the keys, and the music started.

"Look inside, Look inside your tiny mind..." Milla's fresh and slightly childish voice rang out.

When she sang "FXXXYOU~ FXXXYOU, FXXXYOU very very much," many people below the stage burst into loud laughter.

Halfway through the song, Song Ya observed that many people had already raised their hands and started tapping along to the beat, especially the male audience members near the stage, who were staring intently at Milla, their eyes unable to look away.

"Not bad, not bad, the effect is not bad." The promotional manager was very satisfied with this result.

"Really?" Mrs. Jovovich didn't quite understand. She looked at Song Ya, and Song Ya gave her a look of affirmation.

"FXXXYOU~"

As the second chorus of "Fuck You" hit, a small incident occurred in the crowd; a middle-aged white man near the stage suddenly let out a strange howl, "I want to fuck you too!" which drew a burst of laughter from the people around him.

Mira, while singing on stage, had to focus on the cameras and didn't notice the scene at all.

After finishing the song, she bowed to the audience and said, "Thank you, everyone!" followed by enthusiastic cheers and whistles from below...

As Mira exited the stage, a Baptist pastor who had visited Joe Music before stepped up. He shook his head with a wry smile at the microphone toward the audience, "Mr. De Klerk certainly wouldn't like that song..."

This pre-rehearsed line once again drew roars of laughter from the crowd.

"End apartheid!" a volunteer shouted with his arm raised, and everyone began to chant the slogan along with him.

The atmosphere at the venue gradually intensified.

"How come I've never heard this song?"

"The singer probably isn't famous. Let's go look for it at a record store later; her album should be on sale."

"Yeah, albums by these minor singers are usually tucked away in obscure corners. We'll have to go digging through the shelves again."

"What was that girl's name again? Why do I feel like she looks familiar?"

Song Ya, listening to the whispered conversation of the volunteers nearby backstage, finally felt the heavy stone in his chest drop.

Assignment submitted!