Longjing, the capital of the Zhonghua Federation, resembled a cyberpunk dream that night, with neon lights piercing the sky. The "Artist of the Century" competition was not merely a television program; it was a cultural display of global hegemony. Behind the scenes of the massive stadium, 24-year-old Fang Lin shuddered from a throbbing pain in his head as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
At that moment, the floodgates of his mind swung wide open.
Overlaid upon his twenty-four years as "Fang Lin" were the memories of a soul from another world—a soul steeped in art, music, and manga. Whether he had been a genius or simply a devotee of the arts in his previous life no longer mattered. What mattered was this: In this "New China-esque" world, the masterpieces that had nourished his soul were nonexistent. There was no wrath of Beethoven, no rebellion of Linkin Park, and no legends like Berserk or One Piece. Global art was technically flawless, yet spiritually barren.
Fang Lin ran his trembling hands through his hair. "So, no system," he muttered, a slight, mocking curl appearing at the edge of his lips. "Just me and thousands of masterpieces waiting to be plundered."
The competition rules were brutal. A composer had to create a "universe" alongside three randomly assigned illustrators. When Fang Lin entered the waiting lounge to meet his teammates, the tension in the air was palpable.
The scene before him looked like a cover shoot for an epic fantasy novel:
The Raven-Haired Samurai (Yuki): She sat kneeling in the corner of the room, wearing a midnight-blue kimono. Her hair was so straight and glossy that it seemed to absorb the light. Even without the sword sheath beside her, her posture felt like cold, sharp steel waiting to be unsheathed. When she opened her eyes, Fang Lin saw the purest form of discipline in her gaze.
The Polar Flower (Elena): With silver-white hair and ice-blue eyes, she looked as if she didn't belong to this world. She wore simple jeans and a t-shirt, but the thick white fur clutched tightly in her arms whispered of Siberia or Northern lands—of someone born from the heart of a storm. Her gaze was distant, yet curious.
The Latin Fire (Isabella): She was the most vibrant point in the room. With bronze skin, voluminous curly hair, and a sense of rhythm emanating from every movement, she stood in stark contrast to the coldness of the other two. Her fingers tapped a restless beat on the table, while her eyes scanned Fang Lin like a predator.
"I am Fang Lin," the young man said, his voice echoing with an unexpected confidence. "We aren't just going to win this competition. We are going to tear down this world's perception of art and rebuild it."
As they stepped onto the main stage in the center of the stadium, the cheers of tens of thousands washed over them like an ocean wave. Five judges—the harshest authorities in the art world—sat in chairs that resembled thrones.
The host pointed to the slot machine on the giant screen. "Destiny will decide your theme!"
The mechanism began to spin. The first word stopped: GANGSTER. A roar shook the hall; the aesthetic of the criminal underworld was notoriously difficult. The second word: FIGHT. The excitement intensified; action would test the illustrators' true skill. And the final word: MONSTER.
The audience fell into a bewildered silence. Merging the modern criminal underworld with monsters? How could such a combination find harmony?
Fang Lin and his team were ushered into an isolated, high-tech four-person room. The moment the door closed, Fang Lin slammed his fist on the table. His mind was scanning like a digital library.
Gangster... Fight... Monster...
Suddenly, an image flashed before his eyes. The savage art style of the Baki universe—where veins bulged and muscles were strained like steel cables. The superhuman power of Takeshi Wakatsuki and the legendary aura of Hanayama Kaoru standing tall with the "Otokodachi" tattoo on his back. They were the true "monsters" in human form.
"Yuki," Fang Lin said, looking directly into the Japanese illustrator's eyes. "I need a drawing that is raw, brutal, and hallows pure power over aesthetics. I want to hear the sound of bones snapping on the paper."
He turned to Elena. "You will create the cold, distant atmosphere. The city must feel like a cage where the characters are trapped."
When he looked at Isabella, he smiled. "And you... You will draw the rhythm of this fight. Every strike must be a musical note."
Fang Lin put on his headphones. A song began to thunder in his mind. The bass was heavy, the vocals predatory. A rock anthem from his previous life echoed in his consciousness: Skillet - Monster.
"Get ready," Fang Lin said, pulling his graphics tablet and sheet music toward him. "We're going to show the world exactly what kind of song the monster inside us sings."