Avery ended the livestream without warning.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
No request for likes, follows, or sympathy.
She simply reached forward and shut the laptop.
The screen went dark.
The basement apartment fell silent once again, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened.
Avery leaned back against the worn sofa and closed her eyes.
Her heartbeat was steady.
Outside, the city continued to move. Cars passed. Water dripped somewhere in the pipes. Life went on.
She slept.
The explosion happened while she rested.
By morning, the internet had already lost control.
Someone had ripped the livestream recording within minutes of it ending. Another person clipped only the chorus. Others zoomed in on her face, her eyes, her hands on the keyboard.
Titles spread like wildfire:
"Avery Rivers' Basement Performance""The Voice That Froze the Internet""Fallen Idol Sings Like This?"
The clips were uploaded everywhere.
Video platforms. Music apps. Short-video feeds. Reaction channels.
In six hours—
50 million views.
The numbers kept climbing.
Comments flooded in faster than they could be read.
"I don't care what she did. This voice is insane.""That song… who wrote it?""This doesn't sound like anything on the charts right now.""I hated her yesterday. Today I can't stop replaying this."
The hatred didn't disappear.
But it split.
Some still cursed her name.
Others stayed silent.
And silence, this time, was powerful.
Music critics had no choice but to respond.
The same reviewers who had torn her apart days earlier now published reluctant articles.
One headline read:
"We Hate Her Character—But We Cannot Ignore That Voice."
Another wrote:
"The song structure, emotional depth, and vocal execution are completely out of step with the current idol market. Which raises a dangerous question—who wrote this?"
Industry forums exploded.
Producers replayed the clip again and again.
Executives frowned at their screens.
Rival idols went quiet.
In a glass office on the top floor of Titan Management, a television played the clip on repeat.
Marcus Thorne watched in silence.
His jaw tightened.
In the basement apartment, Avery woke up to a vibrating phone.
She glanced at the screen.
Missed calls. Thousands of notifications. Private messages from unknown numbers.
She ignored all of it.
Instead, she summoned the system.
Status.
A blue screen appeared.
[Host: Avery Rivers][Prestige: -4,890,000 → -4,690,000 → -3,800,000][Trend: Rapid Recovery Detected]
New text flashed brightly.
[Achievement Unlocked: "Public Silence."][Description: Letting the work speak when the world demands explanation.][Reward: 100,000 Prestige Points]
Another window opened.
[System Shop Unlocked.][You may now purchase Earth Assets.]
Avery's eyes sharpened.
She focused on the shop interface.
Items scrolled past her vision.
Songs. Scripts. Acting methods. Vocal techniques. Production tools.
Then she saw it.
[Passive Skill: Appraisal Eyes][Effect: See the "Value" and "Hidden Potential" of people, scripts, and opportunities.][Cost: 80,000 Prestige Points]
Avery didn't hesitate.
"Purchase," she said.
The screen flashed.
[Purchase Successful.]
A sharp sensation passed through her eyes, like a cool breeze. The room seemed clearer, sharper.
She looked around.
The cracked table.
The cheap microphone.
Numbers appeared briefly in her vision.
[Microphone – Value: Low | Hidden Potential: None]
She smiled faintly.
Then she looked at her phone.
Names and messages scrolled past.
Most were worthless.
But suddenly—
One message glowed faintly gold in her vision.
[Unknown Sender – Value: High | Hidden Potential: Extreme]
Avery's smile deepened.
"So," she murmured, "the real game starts now."
She stood up, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself.
The world thought her silence meant surrender.
They were wrong.
It meant selection.
And from now on—
She would only choose what was worth her voice.
End of Chapter 6