Osaka, Tokyo, Nagoya… big cities like these often had street performers. Some underground artists would even show up on the regular.
For example, tourists in Osaka would almost always find buskers at the Shinsaibashi Station in the late afternoon. Like clockwork.
Japan didn't have any strict laws regulating street performers. As long as you didn't block traffic, disrupt nearby shops, or annoy the locals with noise complaints, no one cared.
"How naïve," muttered Director Che Lun, watching the livestream footage from the monitor room.
It wasn't Yo Shinbo's innocence that would trip him up—it was his optimism. Sapporo was the fifth-largest city in Japan, with over two million residents. And while it wasn't exactly as lively as Osaka's Shinsaibashi, street shows happened twice a week, on average. Locals had seen it all.
Two foreign guys might catch some attention, sure, but hitting two hundred audience members? Not likely.
The mission had been calculated down to the last detail. According to their research, a well-known local artist with years of experience could gather over five hundred passersby over a two-hour performance. The highest simultaneous crowd they'd ever seen? One hundred and eighty-eight.
And most of those shows happened around sunset, when the salarymen were finally off work. Tired and drained, they might pause for a song or two—something to wash the stress away.
But 1 p.m.? Who was free to watch at that time?
They had no timing, no crowd synergy, no location advantage. And they still wanted to preserve their item? Che Lun and the assistant director exchanged smug smiles. This was like eating garlic and not brushing—so bold.
Yo Shinbo activated his skill, summoning instruments.
They chose a spot twenty paces to the right of the subway's north exit.
It was next to an office building, and unlike the busy southern exit full of shops, this spot had a decent flow of people without drawing noise complaints.
"Our undercover agent's got way too much stamina…" Chu Zhi helped set up the gear, watching Yo Shinbo jog back and forth. The man was a fitness freak.
They had everything: a portable piano, a wheeled electric keyboard, guitar, bass. The production staff, under Yo Shinbo's direction, laid it all out neatly.
Something was off. The show was cooperating way too well.
Yo Shinbo's skill was supposed to summon equipment. But somehow, it had also summoned a pianist and a guitarist?
Definitely suspicious. That kind of generosity wasn't in the crew's nature. Chu Zhi had a feeling this mission wouldn't be so easy.
They skipped lunch, grabbing onigiri from a convenience store.
"We need an opening song that really grabs people," Yo Shinbo said while briefing the backup band.
"I'll handle the keyboard," Chu Zhi offered.
They rehearsed for half an hour. It wasn't enough time to fully sync up, so the instrumentals were a bit clunky—but in an open street setting, no one would notice.
Yo Shinbo opened with a pop-rock number. Within minutes, they had over twenty people watching.
The novelty helped. First, they were singing in Chinese. Second, most buskers only had a guitar and maybe a bass. They had a full band, piano included. It looked like a legit concert.
Chu Zhi silently placed the guitar case down. Sure, they were here on a mission—but if they got a few tips while they were at it, why not?
Rubbing his hands together, he waited for the money to roll in.
"Not bad. I don't understand the lyrics, but I can feel the emotion."
"Are they Chinese singers?"
"There's a camera. Are they celebrities from China? Ooh, the guy next to him is cute."
Chu Zhi overheard the murmurs. As the singing continued, the crowd grew from twenty to fifty.
A promising start. Yo Shinbo pushed harder into the chorus.
🎵 I don't love you anymore,
Which makes you the loser,
And me the winner… 🎵
Even with all his energy, though, the audience capped at around sixty. People came and went. Some stayed briefly, then walked off muttering things like "not that great" or "eh, it's okay."
Street performances, especially in noisy open spaces, could really muffle sound and tone unless your technique was excellent. Yo Shinbo was definitely above average, but not extraordinary.
"Hey, it's Old Nine and Old Goat—it's really them!"
A few Chinese tourists and international students in the crowd recognized Chu Zhi and Yo Shinbo. That helped stabilize the numbers, but not by much. The moment some Japanese passersby saw a group of Chinese gathering, they turned and left.
One song. Two songs. Three.
Mid-performance break.
Rock-pop required loud vocals. Add the open air and the heat, and it got exhausting fast.
Yo Shinbo drank water and took deep breaths. He was starting to realize he'd overestimated things. Two hundred people might not sound like much, but that was four big school classes. Gathering that many was no joke.
They had maybe 40,000 yen in the guitar case. Ninety percent of it came from fellow Chinese. Simply put, his performance hadn't really landed with the locals.
Che Lun, watching back in the control room, smirked. "Hilarious. Did they really think we'd make it that easy?"
They hadn't cheated. But previous travel-reality shows had done similar segments—celebs busking on the street, making money from curious fans. In those cases, the producers had quietly tipped off the local Chinese community. That's why crowds formed so easily.
Not here. Che Lun hadn't done any of that. The cast had no phones. No way to promote themselves. No advance warning. Just raw talent and luck.
"This is the proper way," Che Lun grinned. "And it makes for better variety content."
"Director Che Lun really does play 4D chess," the assistant director praised. And it wasn't just flattery. The mission design, the planning, all of it had been masterfully arranged.
The "correct" path, of course, was to use the Party Scroll, launch an official event, then call over Cai Jia's group from Ramen Alley. With more performers and more noise, they could create a real spectacle.
The props team and logistics crew were already on standby. This wasn't just a casual busk anymore—it was shaping up to be a full-scale outdoor concert. They had even filed an event permit with the Sapporo transit and culture departments.
There was some delay between the scene and Che Lun's monitor, so he didn't see what happened next in real time.
While Che Lun was gloating, Chu Zhi stood up.
If regular folks were the type to spank their kids on rainy days—well, might as well do something when you're idle.
And if Beastplay loved tormenting fans whenever he had time, then Chu Zhi figured, "I'm already here. Might as well make a move."
He glanced at Yo Shinbo. "If I remember correctly, she was at the party that night. Since we still have the Party Scroll..."
He was going to do it. He was going to show Japan what a real Japanese song sounded like.
A cultural counterattack. Using Japanese music from Earth to win over Japanese citizens in a parallel world. Self-import, self-export.
Chu Zhi cashed in his final song voucher. His balance dropped from 13 to 10 individuality coins.
Song Title:Lemon
Written, composed, and arranged by Kenshi Yonezu, theme song for Unnatural.
🎵 Why were you the one I had to lose,
Why did fate pull us apart?
Even now, that bitter lemon scent
Lingers on my heart… 🎵
Lemon had won numerous awards, including Best Theme Song at the Japanese Drama Academy Awards, Billboard Japan's Most Popular Song of the Year, MTV Japan's Music Video of the Year, and more.
Yonezu wrote and rewrote the lyrics after his grandfather's passing. It was a song about loss and love—and it hit hard.
Chu Zhi hadn't planned to sing it at first. But standing here, under this sky, the moment called for it.