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Fame didn't come crashing through the door.
It seeped in.
Quietly. Slowly. Like water through tiny cracks you don't notice until it's too late.
The first few days after we uploaded the song were… disappointing.
At least, that's how Yueyin saw them.
"Only fifty new views today?" she complained, sprawled across the couch with her phone dangling from her fingers. "That's it?"
I didn't look away from my laptop. "That's more than yesterday."
"That's not the point," she said, rolling onto her side. "I thought this song was supposed to be amazing."
"It is."
"Then why isn't it blowing up?"
I finally turned to her. "Because real popularity doesn't explode. It accumulates."
She clicked her tongue. "That sounds like something people say to feel better about losing."
I ignored her.
The system didn't say a word.
No notifications. No warnings. No encouragement.
Just silence.
Which meant this part was on me.
I checked the analytics every night.
Not obsessively—but carefully.
View count: rising. Slowly.Likes: consistent.Comments: few, but genuine.
No bots. No spam.
That mattered more than Yueyin understood.
One comment caught my eye:
"I don't know why, but this song feels comforting."
Another:
"Her voice isn't flashy, but I listened twice without realizing."
Those were dangerous comments.
They meant the song wasn't being consumed.
It was being kept.
I leaned back in my chair.
"Interesting," I murmured.
[Data Analysis Active]Listener retention above average.
I didn't respond.
If the system wanted to help, it would do so quietly.
Just like me.
Yueyin, on the other hand, had no patience for quiet victories.
"Brother," she said one evening, leaning over my shoulder. "Shouldn't we upload another song? Or maybe dance videos? Or photos?"
"No."
She blinked. "No?"
"Not yet."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're wasting time."
I closed the laptop and turned to face her. "Do you want fast attention or lasting fans?"
She hesitated.
"…Both."
I sighed. "Pick one."
She crossed her arms. "I want people to notice me."
"They already are," I said calmly. "Just not loudly."
She stared at me, unconvinced.
To her, numbers were everything.
To me, patterns were.
A week passed.
The views doubled.
Not in one jump.
Day by day.
A few hundred. Then a thousand. Then two.
Nothing impressive enough to brag about.
But not a single day of decline.
The song refused to disappear.
I noticed something else too.
People were sharing it—not reposting the video, but linking it privately.
Messages like:
"This song suits your taste.""I think you'd like her voice."
That was how cult followings began.
Yueyin didn't see that.
She only saw that no one was knocking on our door.
"Why isn't anyone contacting us?" she asked one night, irritation leaking into her voice. "Didn't you say this industry moves fast?"
"It moves fast when it smells profit," I replied. "Right now, we smell… uncertain."
She frowned. "So we're not good enough?"
I looked at her.
"No. We're not obvious enough."
She didn't like that answer.
But she didn't argue either.
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The first real change came from somewhere unexpected.
A cover.
Not a famous one.
Just a college student with a cheap mic and bad lighting.
He didn't even credit Yueyin properly.
But he sang the song.
And people noticed.
Not him.
The song.
Comments flooded his video:
"Where is the original?""This song isn't yours, right?""Link?"
I smiled for the first time in days.
Yueyin burst into my room an hour later.
"Brother! Someone else sang my song!"
"I know."
"Aren't you angry?"
"No."
She stared at me. "Why not?"
"Because," I said, tapping the screen, "this means it's spreading without us pushing it."
She leaned closer, reading the comments.
Her breathing slowed.
"…They're asking about me."
"Yes."
She swallowed.
Not pride.
Fear.
For the first time, she realized this wasn't a game anymore.
That night, she was unusually quiet.
As she brushed her hair in front of the mirror, she spoke softly.
"Brother… what if I fail?"
I paused in the doorway.
"You will," I said honestly.
She turned sharply. "What?"
"You'll mess up. You'll get criticized. You'll doubt yourself." I met her eyes in the reflection. "But this song won't disappear. Neither will the people who like you."
She bit her lip.
"And if they stop?"
I stepped closer.
"Then we'll make them remember."
She nodded slowly.
Trusting me without fully understanding why.
Before sleeping, I checked the numbers one last time.
Still rising.
Still slow.
Still unstoppable.
The system finally spoke.
[Evaluation:]Growth trajectory: Stable.Public interest: Forming.
No praise.
No reward.
Just confirmation.
I closed my eyes, a strange sense of calm settling in my chest.
This was good.
This was right.
A song that burned fast would die fast.
But this one?
This one was learning how to survive.
And soon…
So would she.
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