MV

Song Ya seemed to be worrying for nothing; that evening, Little Lowry called the house directly to tell Tony that the filming for his first music video was about to begin.

Ten days later, Sunday, 1:00 PM, the four siblings headed out together.

The giggling between Tony and his girlfriend drifted into the ears of those behind them from time to time.

"Bitch."

Connie curled her lip in disdain at the black girl in front, whispering to Song Ya, "Look at this disgusting woman. She was definitely not like this when she was with Tony before. Who knows how many boyfriends she's had since they broke up."

Song Ya, holding Emily's small hand, smiled without responding.

Relationships around here were a mess; breaking up and getting back together was as common as eating and drinking. Once Tony made that phone call and his ex-girlfriend heard there was a chance to show her face in a music video, she immediately had a "change of heart."

It was no wonder Connie was annoyed.

However, having transmigrated for nearly a month, Song Ya had already gained a thorough understanding of Tony's personality—which was rough on the outside but shrewd on the inside. It was hard to say who was really playing with whose emotions.

The group crossed the street and arrived in front of a sign that read "XX Dance Studio." Silencer, dressed in a suit and sunglasses, was guarding the entrance alongside AK.

"Hey~ look, look who it is? I almost didn't recognize you!"

Tony walked up to tease Silencer, who responded with a shy smile.

"Alright, let's get to business. We only rented the venue until five, and this neighborhood gets very unsafe once night falls."

After exchanging greetings, AK pulled out a stack of documents and efficiently distributed them to everyone.

Song Ya took a rough look at the paper shoved into his hand; it appeared to be an authorization form for the use of his personal image in the music video. "We're under eighteen. Don't we need a guardian's consent to sign this?" he asked, feeling a bit doubtful.

"Will you die if you don't talk?"

Tony signed it in one go, tossed the pen into Song Ya's hand, pointed at his own head, and said to AK, "Don't mind him, he's had some issues up here lately."

AK patted Song Ya on the shoulder and explained with a smile, "Usually, no one cares about these little details."

While Song Ya was signing, he said to Tony, "Once we're inside, help Al maintain order. Once filming officially starts, listen to the director."

"Don't worry, leave it all to me."

Tony led the way to the entrance and planted a firm kiss on his ex-girlfriend's cheek. "Hear that? From today on, your brother is officially in the entertainment industry."

Connie rolled her eyes behind them.

From the first day he transmigrated, Song Ya had never stopped observing everything around him. Since the security situation had deteriorated, Chicago had tightened the approval process for entertainment venues, especially nightclubs that sold alcohol. It could be said that behind every one of them stood figures with influence in both the underworld and the police, raking in money by the day.

Judging by the 70s and 80s hippie-style graffiti in the hallway, the mottled, dilapidated facilities and decor, the faint smell of urine in the corners, and that dated central dance floor, this "dance studio" had likely been a disco in its prime. After it became "outdated," it had to transform into a dance instruction venue.

Aside from the director and a few staff members tinkering with equipment, twenty or thirty young men and women were already moving to the music on the dance floor, and the atmosphere was quite good.

The music playing was Little Lowry's rap album. Song Ya's first impression... was that it really wasn't very good. Both were essentially chanting, but Little Lowry's songs were significantly more mediocre than the ones constantly played on the radio, especially the lyrics, which were forgettable the moment you heard them.

"Hey! Tony!"

Al waved at Tony from the DJ booth. "Come over!"

Tony ran over, and Al hung the monitor headphones around Tony's neck. "Don't touch any of the settings. Just remember this volume knob. When I give you the signal..." He taught Tony some simple operations.

"Got it!"

Tony excitedly put on the monitor headphones and immediately began to twist exaggeratedly to the music, his hands constantly making phantom adjustments on the controller, looking quite convincing.

"Hey! Isn't that Tony?"

Just as Al walked away, a young girl with heavy makeup immediately approached him. "Remember me? I'm in the eleventh grade..."

"Bitch!"

The ex-girlfriend cursed and rushed over to stake her claim.

Song Ya watched it all, then thought of Silencer acting all high and mighty at the door. Who would have thought that just ten days ago, the two of them were just losers who had been kicked off the football team? And look at them now!

"So, Tony's 'career' plan is a complete success, then!" he mused to himself.

"Hurry up!"

Connie's attention was entirely on the dance floor. Noticing that Al had started arranging positions, she hurriedly pulled Song Ya and Emily over.

"Hey, APLUS!" Al winked at Song Ya. Well, ten days had passed, and his nickname had become known to everyone.

Connie got her wish and stood in a prominent position with Song Ya. Tony's ex-girlfriend crowded in next to them, while Emily and a few others her age were assigned to the front row.

"Everyone! Everyone!"

The director was the only white person on set today. After calibrating the equipment, he stood behind the camera and spread his arms to shout.

Al snapped his fingers at Tony, and Tony cut the music.

"We're about to start filming, everyone keep your eyes focused on me..." The director began a long-winded list of precautions.

In reality, this was the cheapest kind of music video: the singer raps in the front, and the people in the back just dance along to the music.

"OK, ready to start." After giving his instructions, the director went back to staring at the viewfinder.

Several high-power fill lights turned on simultaneously.

At Al's signal, Tony played the music again. "Action!" the director shouted.

You have to admit that racial talent is no joke; everyone looked pretty good moving to the beat, and everyone could improvise their own moves. The atmosphere on the dance floor grew more and more hyped.

"Cut!" The director suddenly shouted, the music stopped, and he pointed at Song Ya, "You! Yes, you, stop looking left and right! Find the beat! The beat!"

"Oh! Right, okay, sorry." Song Ya felt like he was in trouble.

Sure enough, not long after, the director called for a stop again, and it was still Song Ya.

"You, get to the back row!"

"Cut!"

"You! Still you! Move further back!"

Song Ya was getting annoyed. He couldn't dance to begin with, and the mix of body odor and perfume in the crowd was so strong he could barely breathe. "Forget it, I'm not dancing." He simply walked off the stage and retreated to Tony's side.

"You have a problem! You have a huge problem!" Tony glared at him, furious, "Do you think opportunities like this come around often!?"

Song Ya shrugged, "I'm not really cut out for this kind of environment."

The director was happy to see him go, and just then Little Lowry appeared on the sidelines, immediately shifting everyone's attention.

"Everyone, welcome, Lo-Lo-Lo-Lowry!" Al shouted to build the atmosphere.

All the young women began to scream...

Little Lowry was already in full makeup, and his outfit was very sharp. Unlike other rappers, he had no tattoos, wore no gang insignia, his lyrics didn't talk about killing or guns, and there were barely even any excessive swear words.

Aside from being a bit self-centered, Song Ya had a decent impression of him.

Little Lowry stood in the center, and the director announced that the filming would officially begin.

It didn't feel as long while he was dancing on stage, but as a bystander, he felt time dragging on, "I'm going out to get some air," he said to Tony.

Tony was grooving hard with his headphones on, his eyes fixed entirely on Al in the middle of the set. He kept remembering Al telling him to watch for signals, so he was incredibly focused.

However, Al was busy right now. Al was responsible for the beatboxing part of the rap, simulating the sounds of drums and other instruments. It seemed to be a popular performance style at the moment. He stood next to Little Lowry, facing the camera and going untz-untz-untz. Of course, it was all lip-syncing.

So, Song Ya dodged the cameras and walked outside alone. He didn't expect to get the direction wrong, and following the corridor, he ended up in front of an office inside the building.

"DJs in every major city have received the unofficial albums we mailed out. Do you want to know how they responded?"

A super deep, bass-heavy voice of a Black man came from inside the office.

"Tell me," another person replied.

"Philby in Philadelphia said if a guy sings like a girl, looks like a girl, and his lyrics are like a girl's, then he is a girl. Lute in Miami said he wouldn't acknowledge this as rap music. BOI in Atlanta told us to stay in the North and eat sh*t. The New Yorkers said the music in a Brooklyn dumpster is better than ours. Los Angeles mailed some records back to us and said they wanted to let us hear what real music is!"

"Whose fault is that! You didn't listen to me, your manager. I clearly planned to build a reputation in Chicago first, and then nationwide..."

"There is no reputation! The DJs in Chicago are all doing it for my face and my money!"

"We could give money to Philadelphia, give money to New York..."

"F***! That's a bottomless pit! And it's too late to pay them now. That would only stop them from being the first to jump out as the villain. Those shameless bastards who kick people when they're down—the moment they smell blood, they'll jump out and mock Lowry without any restraint, mock you, mock me, mock everything!"

"Then... then forget about them. Once the MV comes out, we can focus on the young female market. Lowry's image is very popular with girls."

"That's all we can do, but my record label is a small operation; we can't take any more big risks. The first batch of cassettes will be capped at five thousand, only distributed in Chicago. Vinyl and digital CD production are on hold until the MV is promoted on TV, then we'll make a plan."

"F***! Five thousand? That's admitting defeat before the war even starts. That's us admitting we're finished!"

"We are finished!"

"No, at least ten thousand. Nowadays, even a dog can sell ten thousand copies of a record."

"Six thousand."

"Eight thousand..."

"Seven thousand, F***! Why are we haggling over this!?"