Paul walked into the lobby on the first floor, and instantly, everyone's eyes were on him.
Among the crowd were some employees of Germo Entertainment, a few contracted artists and singers, and even some newcomers seeking collaboration opportunities. But regardless of who they were, when they saw Paul, their expressions were filled with admiration.
Do I have something on my face?
By now, almost everyone knew that he was unofficially the number one star at Germo Entertainment. Especially Jasmin, the company's top female star, was highly satisfied with him, agreeing to almost all his requests unconditionally. It was only a matter of time before Paul officially became the owner of Germo Entertainment.
No one could imagine anyone resisting Jasmin's 'sugar-coated cannonball' charm!
However, what everyone found more interesting at the moment was the buzz surrounding Paul's recent concert. Especially after last night's performance, which had dominated the trending charts all night.
This had made Werner, who had just announced a new album release, feel quite awkward. He had been building momentum for a long time, hoping to trend, but the attention was completely overshadowed by the excitement from Paul's concert.
Werner stood tiredly in a corner of the lobby. I've been planning this album release for months, and Paul steals the spotlight without even trying. What does a guy have to do to get noticed around here?
If Paul's dilemma was, 'Why is it so hard for me to sing at my own concert?' then Werner's problem was, 'Why is it so hard to trend with my own efforts?'
This wasn't the first time either. The last time Werner released an album, the same thing happened. And the time before that, and before that—every time, someone would unexpectedly steal his spot at the top of the trends.
Could it be that Werner was destined to never trend?
"Look, quick… It's Paul!"
"Wow, it really is Paul in the flesh!"
"Of course! Only Paul can finish a concert one night and still be lively enough to show up at the company the next day. He's not an ordinary person!"
"I can't even handle practicing songs for an afternoon, and yet Paul has done countless back-to-back concerts without even getting tired."
"But… does it even count as a concert if he doesn't actually sing?"
Someone in the crowd muttered quietly, receiving nods of agreement from others.
"Who cares? The fans are paying to sing for him. If that's not success, what else?"
That's right. Paul wasn't really performing at his concerts. He was just... listening.
There were so many singers who had been in the industry for years and hadn't even held one concert. Or, they'd hold one, strain their voices, and hardly get any fan cheers. But Paul? He just stood on stage, did nothing, and started the show. The audience even paid to sing for him.
It was unbelievable, far beyond the norm. Even the biggest names in Germo music couldn't pull that off.
The group couldn't understand it. Was Paul really being fair to his fans? Why weren't they angry about it? Why were they so happy instead?
"I... I want to hold a concert like that too! Just once, that's all I'm asking."
His friend, who had been in the industry for years, scoffed. "You? You've been in the industry for years and barely have any fans. You'll end up making the company lose money."
"Who says you can't hold a concert without fans? I'll work hard, save money, and before I retire, I'll hold my own concert—even if it's free!"
"Retire? You mean a funeral wreath? Honestly, with your current income, you're light-years away from holding a concert. And even if you do, who's going to sing your songs? You'll pass the mic down, and there'll be nothing but crickets!"
"You know what people like you are called in the inner circle?—Cattle."
In the world of entertainment, it was a term behind closed doors for those who couldn't make it big.
"Why you—!"
"Enough! This is annoying!" someone else cut in, clearly tired of the bickering.
Despite the harsh words from those around him, the singer knew deep down that it was true. They're right. Without Paul's talent, what chance do I have?
The music industry had become increasingly competitive, especially with the government's strong push to develop an image representative of Germo. The result was more and more people entering the field.
For most singers, unless they had exceptional talent like Paul, they could only hang on and hope for a stroke of luck.
At this moment, in the lobby of Germo Entertainment, all eyes remained on Paul. He had practically become a legend within the company.
In just two and a half years since entering the industry, he had made a name for himself in just six months. For the past two years, he had already started preparing for concerts.
For a singer, being able to hold a sold-out concert was a true evidence of their popularity, just like box office numbers are for actors. Genuine fan support is the only real indicator of a singer's potential.
He had not only accomplished that, but he had also proved that folk music had a massive market, and he even pioneered the idea of hosting concerts without singing.
Before, if anyone said that a singer held a concert without singing a single note, people would assume the singer would be harshly criticized the next day. But with Paul, it was completely different. He didn't sing a word, and instead of getting backlash, fans were incredibly understanding.
After all, if Paul sang, what would the audience sing? For the greater good, it was better if he kept quiet.
"I don't get it," one of the newcomers said. "How can he pull this off with only fans singing? Why are they even paying to go?"
Werner, overhearing this, chuckled to himself. He was curious about that himself too. So, he had gone to the concert the previous night.
---
Werner had squeezed through the packed arena, pulling his cap lower over his eyes.
I can't believe I'm doing this, he had found a spot near the back. The fans had been so lively and excited even before the show had begun.
The lights dimmed and the crowd grew quiet. Paul stepped onto the stage and took the mic.
"Hello, Germo! I hope you're feeling great!"
"Anilani!" the fans shouted.
"Let's begin this wonderful night with 'Girl Next Door'."
As he began to sing, the crowd immediately drowned out any chance he had of being heard.
Werner had watched as Paul had tried again and again to sing, only to be overpowered by the enthusiastic crowd each time. Finally, he had seemed to give up, standing there as the audience had sung all of his songs.
But as time had passed, something strange had begun to happen. Werner had found his foot tapping, then his head bobbing. Before he had known it, he had been singing along. The lyrics had flowed from his mouth as if he'd known them all his life.
To his left, a group of grandmas had been swaying. Tears ad been streaming down their faces as they had sung. One enthusiastic grandma had been waving her cane in the air like a lighter at a rock concert.
I'm... I'm enjoying it!
His passionate singing had caught the attention of nearby fans. Feeding off Werner's energy, they had begun to sing even louder. He had found himself at the center of a small whirlpool of musical frenzy.
As the night had reached its peak, Werner had witnessed something he was sure he'd never unsee. One of the teary-eyed grandmas, caught up in the moment, had begun calling out Paul.
"Anilani! Anilani, my love!" she had cried out.
And then, to his horror, she had begun to unbutton her floral blouse.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no...
But it had been too late. The grandma had whipped off her top and, with surprising accuracy for someone her age, had launched it towards the stage. Paul had ducked just in time. The blouse had sailed over his head and landed on a speaker.
Werner couldn't help it. He had burst into laughter, tears streaming down his face. He had sung and laughed and sung some more, swept up in the bizarre, joyous energy of the night.
As he had left out of the arena hours later, voice hoarse and ears ringing, Werner had realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. And Paul hadn't sung much at all.
---
As Paul waited for the elevator, he overheard the surrounding conversations, letting out a quiet sigh. The situation reminded him of a curious phenomenon he'd once observed at a zoo.
The caged birds would stretch their wings, longing for open skies, while free sparrows outside the enclosure peered in, envious of the exotic plumage and constant supply of food. Each group, blind to its own blessings, coveted what the other possessed.
Paul smiled wryly. These people didn't understand him at all.
He genuinely wanted to sing at his own concerts. A singer who couldn't perform their own songs—could they even be called a singer?
Especially for him, who had been passionate about being a singer across two lifetimes. Otherwise, with his current status, he could have retired long ago. After all, he didn't even have to sing at concerts, and he could live off his past fame forever.
Not to mention, if things went wrong, he could live off Jasmin's fame—living off someone was a kind of strength as well, wasn't it?
But he wasn't ready to give up. He would never surrender to fate. Right now, there was only one thing on his mind—at the next concert, he would sing himself.
I swear it. Even if Jesus himself showed up, this time, I'm singing!
As the elevator reached the first floor, Paul stepped inside and pressed the button for the 26th floor, where Jasmin was waiting for him.