"What?! Michael Jackson wants us to do a collaboration stage with him?"
"Baldy, he's an older brother with way more years than you. Use some respect."
Who exactly was Michael Jackson, a figure capable of making the members of Enfants Terribles—the most reckless of rebels—act with such politeness?
To summarize in a single sentence, he was the man known as the 'King of Pop' in my previous life. People here even called him the 'God of Pop.' One thing was certain: in both lives, Michael Jackson was the greatest star the American music industry had ever produced.
He was a man I couldn't possibly ignore. He was the one who had practically finished off the genre I didn't just love, but to which I had dedicated my entire life—Rock. In my past life, Michael Jackson was the figure who brought the era of Rock to an end.
"But isn't he currently in seclusion?"
As much as he was a brilliantly shining star, he was also the primary target for yellow journalism and media outlets hunting for profitable gossip. In my memory, he should be in hiding right now, driven to the brink by irresponsible reports that branded him as mentally unstable, having lost all motivation.
"Leader, if he's in seclusion, shouldn't we just go find him?"
"Exactly, bro. Being in seclusion just means he's at home, right?"
That was true. Being in seclusion essentially meant staying at home. Even though it was late at night, if we went now, we might be able to sit down and have a cozy cup of tea.
However, Miyazaki Makoto, the PD of [ASAYAN], blocked us as we were about to head to Michael Jackson's house.
"But there are so many rumors about that guy. It could actually ruin your image. That's the entertainment industry—a world where even [lies] become the [truth]."
It was advice well-suited for someone working in the Japanese entertainment industry who had heard all sorts of rumors, but there was one thing he overlooked.
"Makoto-hyung, we've always been the type of guys to move forward while telling stuff like that to piss off."
"You only ever call me 'Hyung' at times like this, don't you?"
Since when did Enfants Terribles care about such things? Since the topic had been brought up, we were going to storm Michael Jackson's house directly.
So what if there's a controversy? We can just tell them to eat shit. Instrumentalists are a breed that would walk into hell with their own two feet if it meant they could play good music.
We headed straight for 'Neverland Ranch,' known as Michael Jackson's mansion. In my previous life, he had moved out in 2005 due to financial issues, but here, perhaps because he had earned even more money, Michael Jackson was still residing at Neverland Ranch.
"Big Bro MJ! We're here!"
Tanaka Shuji, the bald bassist whose insanity reigned supreme even within Enfants Terribles, was clinging to the main gate of Neverland Ranch and shouting for Michael Jackson.
'That crazy bastard...'
He was even using the gaps in the gate as leverage, scaling the main entrance as if he were prepared to hop over it entirely.
"Hey, this is too high. Muscle-mon, you break the gate down."
"You think that'll work...?"
"Did you skip your meds today...?"
In the middle of our commotion, the sound of a train whistled from a distance, and a man began walking toward us from the train station inside the ranch.
"Enfants Terribles...?"
It looked like we had screwed up the first meeting.
The person who walked out from the station was Michael Jackson.
.
.
.
.
"Big Bro MJ, how did you know we were coming?"
"I received a call from security saying there were people trying to climb over the gate on the CCTV. I was curious to see who it was. I didn't think there was anyone left who would seek me out like this anymore."