Lord-Campione
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New Dawn Chapter: 015
🕑 Added 2024-09-18 02:40:49 +0000 UTC“Anyway…” Mai heaved a deep, exasperated sigh, her eyes closed. “You’re in luck. I do know a few overseas music producers and labels. I can get in contact with them for you. I might be on break, but surely, they’ll give me some face.”
She cracked an eye open, to gauge Tysone’s reaction, only to find him pondering with a deep look on his face and a hand on his chin.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… I was just wondering whether you should straight out tell them that you’re the one who came up with the lyrics.” He said, slowly—she almost didn’t hear him. “You get the credit, and I get the money.”
“Wait… what?” Mai leveled him a look of disbelief.
Tysone flashed a smile her way. He looked serious as hell. Mai couldn't take it any longer and kicked her feet out at him beneath the cafe's table, but alas, his were like pillars of wood and would not budge in the face of such a fair maidenly kick. He was made of steel!
"Look, I know it sounds weird, but trust me, it's smarter this way." Tysone tried to explain his case. Mai kicked again for good measure, like the petulant kid she was. She scowled. She wanted to be angry... but she also wanted to know where he was going with all this.
"Why wouldn’t you want your name on your own work? Don’t you want the credit?"
Tysone wasn’t someone to mince words, so he shot her with a frank gaze. He sounded tired—resigned, in a way. "Credit’s nice, but credit doesn’t pay bills. I need to think about what’s practical."
"But what’s the problem with your name?" Mai frowned.
"Let’s be real, Mai. I’m an unknown in this world. Worse yet, I’m an outsider. And even worse, a black guy trying to break into a market that’s—how do I put it—pretty damn selective about who gets in." He sighed.
"That's..." She hesitated, looking troubled. How cute, the way she felt bad for him.
He waved her off. "No, it's cool, I’m not saying it’s some sort of conspiracy. But you know the way things work here. If I attach my name, they might not even bother to look past that. They might think it’s some sort of publicity stunt or worse—some random kid’s lyrics stolen off the internet."
"So you think they'll take the lyrics more seriously if it’s coming from me." Mai looked resigned. She hid it well.
"Exactly. You already have a foot in the door. They know your face, they trust your name. You put these lyrics out there, and they’ll listen. We get them to buy in first, and then maybe, just maybe, we worry about the name later. Right now, the priority is getting those yen notes flowing, you feel me?"
"T-There's no need to talk like some Yakuza gangster!" She shook her head.
Tysone downplayed the depressing atmosphere a bit. "Maybe I am." He chuckled. "A pervert yakuza boss who preys on 18 year old virgins for kicks and giggles. Dangerous and deadly." Mai tried to kick him again—he expected it, blocking the kick with his foot. He curled his lips, flashing an impish, boyish grin her way.
"Idiot." Mai muttered. “Alright, fine. I’ll give it a shot. But if they end up being terrible, I’m throwing you under the bus immediately. And I mean, immediately.”
"Always appreciated." Tysone nodded sagely. "If my girls aren't capable of cold-blooded murder, then I don't want them."
"O-One of your girls?!" Mai recoiled.
"Oh." Tysone blinked innocently, a hand over his mouth. "Did I say that out loud?"
Mai blushed and turned around. She seemed at a loss for words, before glaring at him. "It's on, black pervert. The yen notes on that heated toilet seat are mine."
"You called me black..."
"Don't say that out loud!"
Mai screeched, slamming both hands over his mouth, her red face comical in its display of fury. Tysone's shoulders shook in mute mirth, his dark hands grabbing hers before gently prying them off him.
"You know, I can give you the pass."
"What pass!"
"The n-word pass."
She gasped. How melodramatic.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about."
Tysone perched his jaw on one hand, staring intensely at the lovely girl in front of him. It was kind of amusing and incredible how he could see, so clearly, the way her fair cheeks gained a dramatic red hue. "It's fine." He chuckled again, much to Mai's consternation. "One day I'll make you say it. For now, I'll settle for you so unashamedly calling me black in a public place. Like, Jesus, Mai... that's very lewd stuff."
"...I'll bite your head off if you're trying to sexually harass a celebrity." Mai tried to act like her usual prim and proper self again. Tysone felt a sort of sick amusement when people acted contrary to the way they portrayed themselves.
“A celebrity? Weren’t you a washed out actress—oof!”
Mai promptly—and successfully—kicked Tysone’s shin.
“Okay, okay, calm down, Mai. You’re quick to pull the trigger, you know?” He said, nursing his leg.
"I am not." Mai said, pompously. "If anything, it is you who is quick to say hurtful, disgusting things!"
"Like how you enjoy calling me black? I knew you had some weird kinks, Mai—"
Another kick. Tysone wouldn't be a normal modern world guy with common sense if he couldn't foresee such events. But man, Mai had good legs.
"I'd like to enjoy this tea. By myself." Mai turned up her nose, all the while acting prim and proper again as if she hadn't kicked the life out of him two times in the past 40 seconds.
He chuckled, standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you be then.”
“Right, right. Be gone.” She nodded, muttering with self-righteous ‘um!’ with each nod.
Tysone picked up his stuff and began to walk away wordlessly. Naturally, Mai stared at his back. And when it seemed like he wouldn’t turn around and come back, she hesitantly called out to him. “Wait… where are you going?” She didn’t really mean it.
“Home.” Tysone casually answered. “I’ll send you the lyrics via text. It’s an English song, so make sure to seek out a label that's likely to be interested in it.” He reminded her, giving her a cool two-fingered wave and disappearing around the corner.
“That damn guy.” Mai sighed. “At least pay for your own food.”
…
Tysone sat in silence, a pen spinning skillfully in his hand. The sheet of paper in front of him laid there blankly for the past few hours. He didn’t write a single word on it.
It was not for a lack of options; too many of them, in fact. But Tysone needed something powerful, yet not exaggerated. He couldn’t possibly introduce the wonders of Tupac, Nas, Kendrick to the world. Besides, he had to make it look like Mai herself could have written it. He had to exclude excessive swearing.
Something powerful, emotional, simple yet touching.
Something that Mai could resonate with.
His memory was limited. After all, remembering every word and verse of every song he knew wasn’t easy.
After another hour of deep contemplation, an idea struck him.
He closed his eyes and let it play in his mind, feeling the gentle, sad beat. In a way, he hoped the lyrics would strike a chord within Mai, because in a way, this song was for her.
Without the music to go along, it wouldn’t have a dramatic impact, but the lyrics should still convey something. He hoped it would, otherwise Tysone would look like an idiot trying too hard.
‘If she feels anything from this, she’s likely to trust me as much as she did the original protagonist of her anime verse.’
With a mighty pen in hand, all he needed was some somber background music and a Death Note. Though, instead of giving heart attacks, he’d give inspiration!
Did he feel bad for plagiarizing someone else’s work for personal gain? Not at all; he wasn’t going to make a career out of it, just some quick money. Besides, he’d be doing this world a favor since, from what he’s listened to, the English songs of this mish-mash of anime verses were subpar, at best.
‘Could I become Michael Jackson?’
Wouldn’t that be kind of funny?
He shook his head, his grip tightening. He couldn’t sing the zombies to death. Fame? It was all temporary. Fuck that shit, seriously.
Words flowed through his pen quickly, from within the tip, and onto the paper beneath. The intro. Insutremental (which type as well), verse 1, verse 1, chorus, bridge, and everything else. He wrote, hard and fast— as if one moment of distraction would lead him astray.
At long last, he stared at the lyrics he wrote, checking and rechecking for anything that wasn’t right.
Perfect.
…
Mai was in the bathtub when her phone vibrated. She groaned, twisting her body and reaching for the damn device. As she did so, water cascaded down her fair, smooth body, revealing a rosy, natural flushing due to the heat.
She flipped her phone open—a text message. From Tysone. She had been expecting it, though not so soon. Part of her believed he was bluffing. Was she wrong?
The chat opened up, revealing a long paragraph formatted into neat lines of prose. There was no music attachment, but her eyes were still drawn to the text.
She submerged herself deeper in the water, holding her phone barely above its surface.
Mai read the lyrics silently.
