-----------------------------------------
Extra chapters available on patreon ❤️🔥
patreon.com/Samurai492
__________________________________
At 9:00 a.m., Adrian Cole uploaded the revised version of his review video. The moment the platform's moderation tag flipped from processing to approved, he hit publish and watched the view counter start crawling upward like a living thing.
He didn't go back to sleep.
His eyes were bloodshot from a sleepless night, his fingertips still tingling from rewinding and replaying those tracks until the melodies felt carved into his skull. But the fatigue didn't matter anymore. Something had snapped into place inside his head—an old instinct he trusted more than coffee, nicotine, or energy drinks.
This album wasn't going to "do well."
This album was going to explode.
Adrian opened his browser and began searching the Official Blog for everything related to Neon Blade: Echoes of Lumen—the soundtrack, the developer, the composer credits, any scrap of background. His search history became a chain of repeated phrases, like he was trying to prove the thing existed by typing it enough times.
Because pure instrumental music didn't have the usual crutches.
No celebrity voice.
No catchy chorus lyrics.
No marketing hook that carried it.
Pure music lived and died on one thing only: emotion.
It used the most primitive method possible—sound to communicate feeling—like a direct wire into the nervous system. If it clicked with the public, it became eternal. People might forget the title, forget the creator, forget the year it released… but the moment the melody played again, it would trigger something buried deep, like a memory written into the body itself.
And if it didn't click?
It became background noise. The kind you heard once in a game cutscene or a film montage, then forgot before the credits rolled.
But Adrian wasn't worried.
He was confident—professionally confident—that this would become a household soundtrack.
At 9:30 a.m., he checked BiliZone.
And the results made him feel something rare after pulling an all-nighter.
Embarrassment.
The music section was already flooded with videos, thumbnails, reaction clips, and dramatic titles that screamed at the viewer like neon billboards in a rainstorm.
"Neon Blade: Pure Instrumental Music You've Never Heard!"
"The True Soul of Myth-Arc Music Lives in Games!"
"A Game Company Made This?! Don't Miss It!"
Adrian rubbed his face slowly, realizing he wasn't leading the wave.
He was late to it.
The truth was, the platform's "marketing accounts"—the creators who specialized in quick edits, slideshow visuals, and soft voiceovers—moved like drones. They didn't need to analyze. They didn't need to understand. They only needed to strike fast, grab attention, and ride whatever was trending.
While Adrian was carefully comparing the soundtrack to established masters, trying to choose his words precisely, those creators had already chopped the music into viral clips and uploaded them with bait titles.
And now, on BiliZone's daily trending board, a video sat at #4:
"Pure Instrumental Music No One Should Miss."
Uploaded by: Xiaxia Music
Followers: 600k+
The view count was already past 1.2 million. Likes were above 70,000.
Adrian clicked it, mostly out of curiosity, but the comment section grabbed him by the throat.
"Is this really produced by a game company? No way."
"I heard it on a livestream—dude almost cried. Said he'd buy 500 copies when the game drops."
"This is the best thing I've heard all month."
"My boss has it looping for three hours in the office. I'm not even mad."
"Finally, music with a real myth-arc feel. Everything else is drifting into foreign styles."
"I'm already imagining myself cutting through neon fog with a blade. When does the game release?"
"Wait… what's Northstar Games?"
Thousands of comments.
And the most upvoted ones weren't technical. They weren't talking about chord progressions or tempo shifts.
They were talking about how it made them feel.
Adrian smacked his lips, his professional pride taking a hit—but his certainty hardening.
Music is for the masses.
And pure music, more than anything, belongs to the crowd.
If the crowd decided it was good, the debate was over.
He leaned back, exhausted, and let the wave of it wash over him.
Ethan Reed.
Lead planner at Northstar Games.
What kind of move was this?
A game company dropping a pure instrumental album strong enough to scare labels off the charts?
It wasn't just smart.
It was cruel.
Adrian finally stood, stretched until his spine cracked, and dragged himself to wash his face. His plan was simple: sleep, recharge, let the internet burn without him for a few hours.
But as he fell into bed…
The world outside didn't slow down.
It accelerated.
Because in the information age, nothing needed time to ferment anymore. The moment something was good, the crowd didn't wait politely. They screamed it into existence.
And good things didn't "sell themselves" anymore.
Good things were hunted, shared, clipped, reposted, and turned into a fever.
That afternoon, at 1:30 p.m., in Linan Arcology, the headquarters of StarForge Entertainment held an emergency meeting on the thirteenth floor.
StarForge wasn't just a music company. It was a machine that touched everything—film, music, variety shows, talent management, brand deals, streaming rights. If culture was a city, StarForge owned a district of it.
Today, though, they looked less like kings and more like people who'd just heard footsteps behind them in a dark alley.
The meeting was called by the head of Production Department Three: Scarlett Voss.
Red hair. Sharp jawline. A stack of printed reports in her hands like ammunition.
She stood before the projection screen, eyes cold, expression full of irritation.
"So," she began, voice dripping with acid, "in July, Hayden Cross lost his chance because he got buried by a trending keyword."
She waved a hand like she was swatting a fly.
"Fine. I won't even waste breath on that. Every month, the charts get hijacked by someone crawling out of nowhere. Either a genuine new talent… or some shameless veteran wearing an alt account like a mask."
A few older producers in the room coughed at the same time, their faces stiff with embarrassment.
Scarlett's smile sharpened.
"It's not a crime. Everyone in the industry has aliases. That's normal."
She paused, then let her contempt land fully.
"Hayden Cross isn't important. I never expected him to become popular. If he wasn't Manager Huang's nephew, I would've kicked him out long ago. I sent him to my show, and he acted like he was royalty."
She leaned forward.
"He's a newcomer. Where does he get that confidence? Sure, he's pretty. But if we ranked looks on my show, would he even make top five?"
Someone near the side cleared their throat nervously.
"Minister Scarlett… Manager Grant Huang is here."
Scarlett turned, eyes flashing.
"What? Did I insult him?" she said, smiling like a knife. "I insulted his nephew."
Then she looked at Grant Huang, who was staring straight ahead with the focus of a man pretending to be a statue.
"Grant," she said, voice honey-sweet and lethal. "You have an opinion?"
Grant didn't blink.
He knew exactly how this worked.
Scarlett's grandfather had founded StarForge.
Grant was a manager.
Managers didn't win against bloodlines.
So he did the only smart thing: he said nothing and prayed the floor would swallow him.
Scarlett exhaled through her nose and snapped the folder shut.
"Forget Hayden Cross. His personality guarantees he'll never last."
Then her voice dropped into business.
"Now, real work."
She clicked the remote.
The projection screen lit up with an image—a beautifully drawn female character in a purple outfit. Stylized, polished, expensive-looking.
Next to it appeared four words:
REMNISCENCE OF NEON IMMORTALS
Scarlett tapped the screen with her finger like she wanted to leave a dent in it.
"Our comeback album for Zane Crowe started planning in August. Four months. Seven lyricists. Seven composers. Almost ten million spent on production and promo. We did all that to make sure Zane returns with a chart-dominating album."
She turned back to the room.
"And today… someone tells me we've already lost the #1 spot. Before we even released."
Silence.
Scarlett slammed her palm on the table.
"What did you tell me back then? You told me you'd handled the competition. You told me other companies wouldn't dare collide with us. You told me these songs would be the best release of December."
She pointed to the screen again.
"So tell me now—what the hell is this?"
No one answered.
Scarlett's voice rose.
"Are we really losing to a pure instrumental album?!"
She paced two steps, anger tightening her shoulders.
"Losing to major labels would at least make sense. They have first-tier producers and real monsters in-house. But this?"
She jabbed the air.
"We're losing to a game company."
Her lips curled.
"A small one."
Her eyes swept the room.
"What am I supposed to say when Department One and Department Two laugh at us later? You might not care about your reputation—"
She hit her chest lightly with her fist.
"—but I do."
A round-faced woman in glasses raised her hand cautiously.
"Minister… please calm down."
Once one person spoke, the others finally dared to breathe.
A refined middle-aged man—Department Three's only first-tier producer, Hector Xin—leaned forward and spoke carefully.
"Minister Scarlett… the quality of this album is… comparable to the best chart-toppers from Q-Block's top labels."
He looked almost pained saying it.
"These tracks—Reminiscence of Neon Immortals, Butterfly Signal, First Rain in Linan Arcology, and Blades Over Lumen City—each one could enter the top ten on their own. Even as instrumentals."
He gave a bitter smile.
"And now they're packaged in one album."
Scarlett's eyes narrowed, but Hector continued anyway.
"When I first heard Reminiscence, I assumed it was Warren Lin. But when I heard Blades Over Lumen City, I rejected that idea—Warren Lin is delicate, but he doesn't do scale like this."
He swallowed.
"I thought it was Blake Liang. But I contacted Warren Lin, and he said Blake Liang is busy scoring a film right now. And the other two tracks don't match Blake's style either."
He spread his hands slightly.
"So… whoever made this… isn't copying anyone. They're just… that good."
Hector wanted to say, losing isn't shameful.
But Scarlett didn't need the logic explained.
Logic didn't stop humiliation.
Because no matter how you dressed it up, the headline was simple:
StarForge Department Three lost to a game company.
Scarlett clapped her hands once, sharp and loud.
"Enough."
"I called this meeting to solve Zane Crowe's release problem—not to listen to you praise Ethan Reed. I have ears. I listened."
She drew a breath, forcing her temper into focus.
"Zane already posted the release date on the Official Blog. The fifteenth. That's in a few days."
She looked around.
"So what do we do?"
A voice offered, hesitant: "Delay it to next month."
Others chimed in fast.
"If we release this month, we can't compete."
"Push the album. Let Zane explain it publicly. Two weeks delay isn't fatal."
The decision formed like a reluctant surrender.
Avoid this month's charts.
Because unless StarForge dragged in living legends and forced them to work overnight—something impossible—the soundtrack from Northstar Games was simply untouchable.
Scarlett stared at the table, jaw tight.
December's charts… dominated by a game company?
The thought made her skin crawl.
Then she lifted her head.
"Alright," she said coldly. "Next problem."
Groans rose around the room.
"Still more?"
"Why so many fires today?"
"It's almost afternoon tea…"
Scarlett's eye twitched.
These producers lived like cats—lazy until threatened, then suddenly loud.
She took a slow breath.
"I had people investigate."
The room quieted again.
"Ethan Reed. The person behind that album." Scarlett said, savoring it.
"He's not even in the music industry."
Someone gasped.
Scarlett's smile finally returned—because she remembered how she'd felt receiving that report earlier.
Shock. Disbelief. The urge to slap herself just to confirm she wasn't dreaming.
Scarlett continued, voice smooth.
"He's a director… at a game company."
The room erupted into stunned whispers.
A team of music professionals had been humbled by… a game director?
Hector Xin looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. He had assumed Ethan Reed was a hidden disciple, a pseudonym, or an old monster using a new name.
Not this.
Scarlett lifted her chin.
"Several labels have already sent offers to him."
Her eyes sharpened.
"And StarForge won't lose him."
She pointed toward a woman seated near the side.
"Meng Shu."
The woman straightened instantly.
"Your next job is simple," Scarlett said.
"Find Ethan Reed. And bring him to StarForge."
She leaned forward, voice almost gleeful.
"It's a waste for someone like that to make games."
Huh—!
Vivian Frost suddenly shivered, an exaggerated full-body shake from her feet to her shoulders, like a cold draft had crawled inside her bones.
Ethan Reed glanced over from his laptop, concern flickering across his face.
"What's wrong?"
Vivian rubbed her nose, squinting as if she could see an invisible threat.
"I don't know," she muttered. "I just suddenly felt like someone out there is… coveting my stuff."
She clenched her fist and waved it dramatically.
"Damn it! Are rival studios coming to poach you? I knew this day would come!"
Ethan stared at her. She looked petty, greedy, and completely serious.
He couldn't help finding it funny.
Because he wasn't going anywhere.
Not because some system chained him to Northstar Games, but because somewhere along the line, Northstar had become his place. In this strange world, he'd found familiar rhythms—people he cared about, a routine that felt like belonging.
Also…
He genuinely loved making games now.
And if he was being honest?
There was also a smaller, selfish reason:
Having a boss who was beautiful, bossy, and sometimes brought him food like he was a prized asset…
Was way too comfortable.
So no. He wasn't leaving.
But instead of saying that, he smirked and said the opposite, just to watch her react.
"Heh. Then you'd better be careful. If I feel mistreated… I might walk."
Vivian narrowed her eyes.
"Tsk. You won't leave." She huffed. "You own thirty percent now. What more do you want?"
She paused mid-grumble, a realization slamming into her.
Wait.
If Northstar collapsed, Ethan could still go anywhere.
But her?
She could only eat and play.
Vivian froze.
Then she snapped upright so fast the chair squeaked.
Ethan blinked. "?"
Vivian grabbed his cup, sprinted to the office water dispenser, filled it, and hurried back like she was serving royalty.
She placed it carefully beside his hand, then squatted down with an exaggerated sweet smile.
"Chief Planner Ethan," she said, voice syrupy. "Little Vivi poured water for you!"
Ethan stared at her.
For a second, the room was silent.
Then he laughed—quietly, like he'd just realized the most dangerous thing in the building wasn't corporate recruiters.
It was his own boss's paranoia.
And somewhere far away, in Linan Arcology, a woman with red hair was already giving orders to hunt him down.
The game had changed.
And Ethan Reed didn't even know he'd become the prize.
-----------------------------------------
Extra chapters available on patreon ❤️🔥
patreon.com/Samurai492
__________________________________