Chapter 43
As Long as You Don’t Give Up, Dreams Won’t Leave
***
Ninety-nine percent of what a bounty hunter needed was patience, and the remaining one percent was ample lead bullets.
The mont Ga-on withdrew the hand he had slipped inside his coat—
Click.
—was almost simultaneous with Clock spewing fire.
Just as the gunshot was buried beneath the surrounding noise, Joshua, who fell backward, was buried in the snow piled along the roadside.
It did not suit my temperant to exchange aningless words like I ca to capture you or Pay for your sins.
The one who was ant to die had simply died.
He was not even worth mourning.
What I witnessed this ti was not Joshua’s death, but the power of the modified bullet.
“It’s worth the money.”
***
“I’ve taken care of one wanted criminal, so send soone. And the under armor—smart choice. I’ll make good use of it.”
[What…….]
After sending his GPS-marked location to Fernandez, Ga-on turned around.
There was no need to take Joshua all the way to Columbus; cooperating with the Public Enforcent Corps would allow the matter to be handled quickly. Whether he ended up as material for doctors’ practice under the pretext of donation, or was handed over to the damaged Public Enforcent side and torn limb from limb, it was none of my concern.
Not clinging to trivial matters was also a virtue of a fixer.
When I stepped out of the alley, a forest of buildings unfolded before my eyes.
Even though it was late at night, holograms and neon signs glowed from all over, and the augnted reality unfolding in connection with devices made the place as boisterous as dayti.
Looking around, I realized I had set foot in a place I had never visited before.
‘District 24.’
It was an area densely packed with entertainnt agencies and film production companies. With related universities nearby and a high number of small theaters and live clubs, it naturally followed that broadcasting stations had been built in close proximity as well, and the liveliness exceeded imagination.
At the center of it all was a plaza that had naturally ford where eight-lane roads intersected.
Perhaps because it was located along a main road, it was crowded with young people.
So dancers used the terrain to perform, while street artists drew portraits. Among them, the highlight was the buskers, each singing their own songs.
Passersby stopped for a mont to soak in the performances, but I was an exception. Their tone and pitch were so eerily precise that they were no different from the radio.
An era where perfect reproduction was preferred over personal interpretation.
It was a sensibility I could not understand.
I never expected to feel a generation gap in a place like this, and I could not help but let out a bitter smile.
It was then that the bounty ca into my device.
Admiring Fernandez’s clean handling of the job, I transferred part of it to Oliver. A reply that sounded like a rebuke ca back, but I had no ti to pay attention to it.
Suddenly, from far away, a singing voice rang out—one that sounded almost like a dissonance.
A beautiful voice drawn up to the point of breathlessness, and the clear resonance of an acoustic guitar.
It was an individuality that did not fit in a plaza where everything felt uniform.
As if bewitched by sothing, Ga-on walked toward it and stopped in front of a girl.
An oversized flight jumper that made it impossible to gauge her build. On top of pulling up her hood, she had wrapped a scarf around her face, so I could not see her features, but that was not what mattered.
Appeal and emotion.
There was sothing about her that tickled the heart.
What was surprising was that no one was paying her any attention.
If a stranger saw it, they might have mistaken it for people deliberately ignoring her.
In truth, setting aside her uniqueness, even the choice of song was inappropriate.
“‘You Who Found the Star’ by ‘Stelvia.’ Right?”
When I carefully approached and asked the girl who had just finished singing, she seed startled.
It was only natural.
Stelvia had been a famous singer active before the Third World War. In numbers, that was roughly three hundred years ago.
Retro among retros, retro of all retros.
To soone from that era like , it would not be an exaggeration to call it a masterpiece, but in modern society—changing by the day—and especially in the entertainnt industry, it was a song that had all but been buried.
“You know it well?”
“I like it too. Did you choose it yourself?”
“Yes, I prefer older songs to recent ones.”
“You’re young, but you really understand music.”
“Th-thank you.”
Caught off guard by the sudden high praise, the girl looked bewildered. But I could say with certainty that if she were ever exposed to the public eye, it would be no difficult task for her to soar.
“Are you perhaps an aspiring singer?”
“Rather than a singer, I’m an idol trainee.”
“Oh, an all-around entertainer, then.”
“I’m not that amazing.”
She waved her hands in alarm, but the slight upward curve of her lips could not be hidden. Perhaps what she had been lacking was simply attention.
“Work hard. As long as you don’t give up, dreams won’t leave you.”
After placing 50,000 Pia into her guitar case, Ga-on patted her shoulder and left the plaza.
In the spot he had departed from,
the girl who remained alone stared blankly into her guitar case.
The first money she had ever received while busking lay there.
To a girl currently standing at the crossroads between success and failure, it was no less than a revelation.
Treating the bill as a talisman, she tucked it into her coat and stood up with a bright expression.
Having received encouragent as well, it felt like a day when sothing might finally happen.
***
Mystic Hundred, an idol audition program ambitiously prepared by LOTV, the comprehensive programming channel representing Mars.
Depicting the journey of one hundred trainees gathered from all over, the show had caused a sensation from the mont it launched. It was a survival program that thoroughly advocated the law of the wild.
A lineup that brought tension to a lax broadcasting industry.
Moreover, the final six selected here would be given the opportunity to debut under the protection of the gacorp Marstop.
Despite being unknowns, they would not only build recognition by appearing on the program, but ultimately beco idols chosen by a gacorp.
Viewers were ecstatic at the fact that they could select such talent with their own hands, and the trainees poured all their passion into a privilege that would never co twice.
After three months of competition, seven remained.
Now that they had reached the final stretch, the program would end once just one more person was eliminated.
Right. I just have to get past one more.
I can do this.
Repeating that to herself, the girl, Sakuya, clasped her hands together.
She had finished checking her movents, morized the the song, put on her outfit properly, and her makeup was flawless without a single lacking detail.
All that remained was to show the best version of herself.
As she was steadying her heart, the person she least wanted to face entered the waiting room.
Handel Bison.
She was a strong candidate for the win. Since it was not a program that determined first place, the title was aningless, but at this point her debut was all but certain.
It was obvious that the mont the group was ford, she would beco a core mber.
Even in Sakuya’s eyes, Handel was the very embodint of the ideal idol. Platinum-blonde hair that fluttered as if holding starlight, voluptuous curves, and a beautiful voice that, once heard, no one could escape from—more than enough to receive the love of countless people.
But her character did not follow suit and lingered at rock bottom.
“You clung on pathetically and crawled all the way up here? There better not be any chance you make it through. There’s nothing harder to endure than promoting with a low-level mber.”
She had always been like this since the beginning of the show. She was eager to reveal her true nature whenever no one was around.
Sakuya was about to respond, but she stopped mid-sentence.
A strange sense of incongruity lingered in her ears.
The source was Handel.
Her voice was refined to a frightening degree of sharp perfection. There was only one reason—
“Don’t tell you replaced your artificial vocal cords again?”
“A new model was released. They say it can produce high notes 1.6 tis cleaner than the previous version. I guess I’ll get to confirm that in this round.”
Then it was no different from a machine performing in her place rather than Handel herself singing.
“Aren’t you ashad?”
“An idol is soone who repays the expectations of their fans. Rather than staying natural with half-baked resolve like you, it’s better to go all the way. The vote count proves it.”
Just as she said, with each round Handel had undergone a complete transformation.
Her facial features changed, blemishes vanished from her skin, and her figure was perfected.
Beauty borrowed from the power of science.
“That’s deception. If people want to see soone covered in chanical devices, they’d look for an android. There’d be no reason to co all the way to a concert hall.”
“Jealous?”
Handel leaned in close enough for her breath to touch and smiled coyly.
“Not at all.”
Sakuya did not back down either. Instead, she leaned her upper body forward. At least when it ca to her chest, she did not lose.
“You live off basic inco and yet you act all high and mighty, lecturing . If you hadn’t been born pretty, you wouldn’t have even dread of becoming an idol. Admit it.”
No.
Sakuya could say it with certainty. From the day she was born until now, her feelings for music had always been sincere. That was why she spared no effort and ran forward with all her heart.
The reason she went out busking every week, even though no one recognized her, was because of that.
“In the old days, a girl like you wouldn’t have had any path other than selling her body. The world really has gotten better.”
“That’s what I should be saying to you.”
Since Sakuya had been watching Handel all this ti, she could co to that conclusion. Handel was lazy. She relied on Slots for all her abilities.
Aside from a few minor skills, there was hardly anything that could truly be called Handel’s own.
A song without heart would eventually reveal its limits.
Sakuya truly believed that.
It was then that an FD entered the waiting room.
“Twenty minutes until the live broadcast begins. All participants, please get ready.”
“Thank you for letting us know.”
With a smile put on for show, Handel waited until the FD left before letting out a sigh.
“I’ve lost interest. I’m going.”
Just as abruptly as she had entered, Handel disappeared.
Though a storm had swept through once, Sakuya paid it no mind and focused her mind.
Before long, carrying that montum, she stepped onto the stage and took the microphone.
Inside her coat was a 50,000 Pia bill.
As long as you don’t give up, dreams won’t leave you.
Recalling the words of the naless man, Sakuya sang with all her strength.
Yes, I won’t lose to anyone.
I—
***
[What a pity. Miss Sakuya has been pushed down to 7th place.]
[In a way, it could be seen as an inevitable result. While the other contestants grew, Miss Sakuya didn’t change much from the beginning.]
[I think her way of expressing her emotions has improved remarkably. What do you think, Mr. Rackson?]
[I…]
The panelists on television were heatedly discussing the recently aired Mystic Hundred.
The one eliminated from the final selection was Yukihana Sakuya.
A girl from an orphanage.
For a mont, my eyes caught the sight of her desperately holding back tears. Though she stood upright with composure, her trembling arms were pitiful to behold.
‘I feel like I’ve seen her sowhere.’
Whether it was a mistake or a lapse in mory, I could not tell.
A strange sense of déjà vu washed over , but I quickly dismissed the thought. A program that did not suit Columbus had suddenly appeared on screen and briefly stolen my attention, that was all.
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