Lord-Campione
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New Dawn Chapter: 016
🕑 Added 2024-09-18 02:45:44 +0000 UTCWithout a melody to go along with it, one could have mistaken it as some sort of well-hidden confession. A poem. It was very lyrical, after all. Beautiful, no doubt. Something that she didn’t think Tysone could have come up with, but try as she might, she couldn’t find the lyrics online.
It was not stolen—which gave him credibility. Or at least, the benefit of the doubt.
Still, even as Mai curled up in bed. She stared at his lyrics with mixed feelings. Words cut deep, no matter their intent—especially the lyrics he showed. Mai didn’t cry. No, that would be uncool, but her chest ached, like she had an angered scorpion lodged deep within.
“I came across a fallen tree, I felt the branches of it looking at me.”
She whispered.
“Somewhere Only We Know…”
“......”
It brought feelings that could not be defined in simple prose. A longing. For a distant memory lost in time. The regret of not giving it enough time.
The scorpion inside of her stabbed and tore apart her chest some more. Its sharp claws scraping against her tender, fragile heart. It hurt a bit to think. But there was an inherent beauty in all the pain. In knowing that the pain came from somewhere genuine; a distant emotion locked deep within one’s memories.
She began to sing the lyrics in a low whisper. No one was there to witness her red face, her teary eyes and quivering, hoarse lips as Mai tried to sing, in her own accented way, the lyrics given to her by a stupid foreign guy she only knew for a scant few days.
…
Tysone, in the following days, wrote more lyrics. They all varied in genres, love ballads, sad love songs, a rap battle song he enjoyed listening to long ago, and an eclectic list of artists that didn't exist in this world. Bad for his ears. Good for his pockets. It was a pipe dream expecting his lyrics to be used for the same tune, but he hoped they'd get close enough that it sounded recognizable.
Regardless, Mai didn’t contact him. Tysone wasn’t overly concerned. If it didn’t work, he’d try other lyrics. If even those didn’t, he’d try to write books or scripts; not that he was much of a writer, in the first place, but hey, he tried. He couldn't sing, after all.
In the meanwhile, Tysone continued working at the construction site and regularly meeting Saya for his Japanese lessons. If Saya wasn’t such a cute girl, he doubted he’d be listening so actively.
He was glad his lessons were paying off, though. For starters, his Japanese improved to the point where Saya wasn’t instantly criticizing his vocabulary after saying or understanding everything she said in just the first or second session. That felt like it was years ago.
And he was also steadfastly enhancing his physique. With his first paycheck, he could start working on his muscles free of worry. 'Gotta hit those proteins.' He wasn’t jacked by any means, but some of his older jeans began to fall down without the aid of a belt.
He stared at himself in the mirror, watching his flat, dark-skinned belly. “Man, what got you smiling like that?” He had never been vain. Being poor wasn’t synonymous with vanity. But damn, it was nice looking at himself and being proud of what he was—and was becoming.
It was not easy, but good, beautiful things never were.
One day, he’d cash it all in.
As such, life, for Tysone, continued. It had only been a little over a week—certain things had yet to settle, so it was a wait and see kind of affair.
At last, when the sun had just started to set on another beautiful, zombie-free day of Tokonosu City, Mai finally contacted him.
—Meet me at HanaHana Café, 9 AM.
Did she know it was his rest day?
He got dressed in new clothes and walked out.
HanaHana Café was quite nearby, thankfully. He didn’t want to spend money on bus fares. Someone might think he was exaggerating, but every penny saved was a penny that could buy a future. Besides, with Tysone walking everywhere and cooking at home, he was also making long-term gains by getting rid of excess calories. It was no joke.
Eventually, Tysone made it to HanaHana, got in, and easily found a beautiful girl sitting by the mirror. How cinematographic. So lost in thought was she that she didn’t seem to notice him. And boy, was he noticeable.
“You look distraught. Is something the matter?” Tysone said, startling Mai out of her stupor.
She eeked out a ‘huh’ before coming back to her senses. “You…”
Tysone nodded, sitting down. “Yes, me.”
Mai held her forehead, a sigh rolling out. “Tell me the truth, did you really write that?” Her eyes were deep and serious. Did she want some emotional reveal?
Even if he told her that it wasn’t originally his, the origins could never be traced back to the original writer. He might as well claim it to be him. “Why, you think I can’t possibly be a decent songwriter?”
She wanted to refute him, but found herself unable to. It’s not like she really knew Tysone. Who knew what he had been up to in the US. Anything could be possible.
Instead, Mai asked, hopefully, something more optimistic:
Mai tapped her fingers on the table, sounding like raindrops pelting window glass. Finally, her lips parted and she said: "...And the others? Those other lyrics you had..." She licked her lips—no doubt, preparing herself for the answer, yet clearly afraid of what it might be.
Tysone rubbed the back of his neck nonchalantly. It wasn’t an unusual motion, yet he seemed like some great sage divining her. His lips curled. "What about them?"
"Do you have any other lyrics like this?"
She waved her phone, where the text he had sent her the other night was on display.
"Maybe?" Tysone shrugged. "Why, you like it?"
Mai narrowed her eyes. “It’s irrelevant whether I like it or not.”
“I mean…” He drawned the word out. “It does sound a little relevant to me.”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Well… I did receive some offers.” Tysone’s eyes lit up in interest. Finally! Straight to the point. “You might have been, no, you were right in thinking that my name would raise the bids.”
Tysone gave her a little, infuriating smirk. “Good things will come if you listen to me.”
Mai’s cheeks puffed up. “It was a happenstance!” She affirmed. “A hap-pen-stance!”
“Come on now, how much have they offered us?” If Tysone had any less self-control, his eyes would have morphed into cartoonish dollar signs. He’d rub his hands like a mosquito as well, but nah, he kept his cool.
Mai cleared her throat. She cracked one eye open. “Well, the lowest was around 500 USD.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the lowest.” He rolled his eyes. “What’s the highest?”
Her lips twitched. “Around… 7000 USD. Roughly one million yen.”
7000 dollars might not have been a huge sum for some people, but for Tysone, it was an astronomical sum. If he sold other lyrics, wouldn’t he be able to rake up enough money for Japan’s first ever Rage Room? Saya, that little rich lady, would also chip in.
“You reckon we could go higher than that?” Tysone released a breath, calming his boiling blood. Hell, not even a hot, naked woman had ever gotten him so excited before. Yeah, Tysone wasn’t straight—he was money-sexual.
"It depends..." Mai's fingers tapped on the table nervously. "My producer suggested for us to hold the rights, and instead settle for an agreed rate, which is a fifth of the song's profit. 10%, I assume, like in the US." Mai was uncertain on that front. "But that's assuming we find producers, we go through the channels and that the song succeeds. It seems like you have enough songs..." Mai spoke more like she was having a conversation with herself. "If the option is to make money quickly, we should accept the offer. But... if you're confident in the quality and potential of your lyrics, then perhaps we could try?"
And so Tysone was caught in a dilemma. Sell it for 7000 USD, or wait it out until some reliable label sees what a hidden gem the lyrics was and turns it into an anthem. Money, or Future more money? That was the real dilemma. Didn’t those really popular songs in his world cash in millions of dollars?
Tysone slowly mulled over the information he was given. If his lyrics reached the right ear of the right producer, Tysone couldn’t see them failing to take off. It was only a matter of when.
Then again, if it were another world, another anime, he might have considered waiting it out. But with two years until the apocalypse, he really didn't care. More like, he couldn’t afford to. 7000 USD was a decent starting capital for his businesses. Tysone clicked his tongue.
He had more lyrics—he wasn’t scared.
However, Tysone could see that Mai wasn’t done talking yet.
