Musician In Love-hate with Fans

"Did you… did you really write all of these?"

He flipped through the notebook over and over. He then pinched his cheeks to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from lack of sleep. Is he a wizard?

After confirming it three times, he finally realized one thing: Not only had Paul's creativity not run dry, but he was absolutely overflowing with talent.

"You actually know how to write music in different styles!"

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, why?"

These compositions, Julian was certain, would shake up Germo's entire music industry once released. Seeing the still unsatisfied expression on Paul's face—it was clear he hadn't even fully indulged in his creativity yet.

No wonder Jasmin always looked for excuses to book a private meeting with Paul under the pretense of discussing some late-night script. This guy's a goldmine! We need to keep him close and never let him slip away.

Paul, meanwhile, seemed entirely indifferent to his assistant's shocked expression. After all, he was full of talent, not pregnant with it.

He had initially planned to release them later, after blending in with other artists and fans in the entertainment world to stabilize his position. But now, he was doing the opposite, and his fans were the reason.

Who would've guessed? He was actually a songwriter-singer, more or less.

Especially with these new works. If he had secretly written them alone, people might suspect he had hired ghostwriters from the underground music scene. Some would still think that way. But they didn't need to know that the songs were from another world.

He would never admit it anyway.

In the industry, many famous singers buy songs from unknown musicians. This was a well-known but unspoken truth. The musicians get paid, the singers get fame—it's a win-win, so why not?

But Paul's work was so extraordinary that it defied belief.

Julian couldn't help but feel regret that there wasn't a live songwriting competition in this world—because if there was, Paul would undoubtedly sweep the championship.

Staring at him in disbelief, awe, and confusion, Julian felt a light pat on his shoulder. Paul's calm gaze seemed to say, "Don't worry, the first time is always a bit tight, but it gets easier after a few rounds."

A chill ran down his spine, and his eyes, once filled with admiration, now reflected pure terror.

I knew it. Bro has been eyeing my handsome looks for a while now. But if this is what it takes to keep our star happy and productive...

"I... I understand. If you need to, uh, relieve some creative tension..."

"What are you talking?"

"I'm willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of the company!"

"I appreciate your... dedication," Paul said, putting his hand on his shoulder. He was genuinely moved by what he perceived as Julian's willingness to go to great lengths for his music.

"But this is my first time… please be gentle—" Julian was holding both of Paul's hands.

"Get lost! What are you doing?"

Before Julian could finish, Paul had already let out an exasperated shout.

What the heck? Did he smoke something or what?

"I'm planning to perform these new songs at the next concert. What do you think?"

Hearing this, Julian finally realized what was going on. Ah, so that's what he meant. Bro, you should've said so earlier. Look at the sweat you made me break out in.

He paused for a moment before replying, "I'll need to think about it first!"

It wasn't unreasonable for him to hesitate. After all, Paul had held over a hundred concerts without a hitch—no lip-syncing, no voice cracks, no microphone mishaps.

Why? Because he didn't even need to sing...

But if he planned to debut these new songs at the next concert, the audience wouldn't know the lyrics. That meant he would have to perform them live.

Would the fans accept this change?

Julian felt a headache coming on. He had never encountered an artist like Paul in all his years in the business. While most singers would be content to coast and collect their paychecks, here was Paul—fully capable of taking it easy, yet insisting on standing up and working hard.

What's with this guy? Trying to show off how capable he is?

He could only mutter bitterly to himself. Of course, he couldn't say any of this out loud—he had made good money following Paul all these years.

More importantly, he wasn't the type to stir up drama or scandals, nor was he secretly raising chicks in hotel rooms. He was a genuinely outstanding young singer.

So, even though Paul just wanted to sing a simple song at his concert, why did it have to be so… darn difficult?

---

Six months earlier, Bob had been just another driver for Germo Entertainment. He'd seen his fair share of divas and drama, but nothing could have prepared him for the day he was assigned to Paul and Julian.

It had been a rainy Monday when the call had come in. "Bob, we need you to pick up our new rising star and his manager," the dispatcher had said. "And whatever you do, don't mention anything about singing."

He had thought it was a joke. What kind of singer doesn't want to talk about singing? But he'd agreed, driving to the desidnated location.

He'd spotted them easily enough – Julian, looking frazzled and clutching a clipboard, and Paul, standing there like he was lost.

"Hi, I am Bob the driver," he had said as they slid into the back seat. "I hear you're quite the singer."

Julian had nearly choked on air, while Paul had smiled wryly.

"I am suppose to be one..."

Bob had caught Julian's panicked expression in the rearview mirror and decided to change the subject. "So, where to first? Hotel? Studio?"

"Actually," Paul had said, "I heard there's an excellent ice cream parlor in downtown. Could we stop there?"

"No problem."

They'd visited the ice cream parlor, where Paul had insisted on trying every flavor before picking plain vanilla.

Then they'd taken a detour to a pet store, where Paul had spent an hour cooing at puppies.

By the end of the day, he had been thoroughly perplexed but undeniably entertained. When he'd dropped them off at their hotel, Paul had turned to him with a grin.

"Same time tomorrow, Bob?"

And just like that, he had become their regular driver.

---

Back in the present, Bob chuckled to himself as he navigated through traffic. He had witness countless bizarre interactions between Paul and Julian since that day.

"If you two ever decide to write a sitcom about your lives, I've got plenty of material," he said.

Paul leaned forward. "Like what?"

"Please, Bob, don't encourage him."

"There was that time at the farmers market when Julian thought you were propositioning that old lady selling zucchini..."

"I was not!" Julian protested. "I just thought it was odd that he was so interested in her... squash techniques."

Paul burst out laughing. "I was trying to learn how to grow my own vegetables."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Julian huffed.

Bob chuckled, shaking his head. "We've arrived at the hotel."

Without another word, the car soon stopped at the five-star hotel where Paul was staying.

As Julian gathered the notebook with the new songs, he said, "I'll need to think it over. I'll give you an answer tomorrow. See you guys."

"Fair enough. Take your time," Paul nodded, understanding.

"Thanks for the ride, Bob. See you tomorrow."

He understood. From the moment he signed the contract with the company, he was signing away his freedom. Freedom has a price in this industry.

Thankfully, Julian had shielded him from most of the 'selling out'. And there was Jasmin, who constantly claimed she had plumbing issues at home and wanted Paul to come 'check it out'.

But he always had some excuses for it. Who could blame him? He was just a singer, and not qualified to fix pipes.

---

The hot water had just begun to wash away the day's stress when his phone rang. Definitely not.

Seeing it was a video call from Jasmin, Paul decisively declined the call because he was still naked and halfway through drying himself.

Seconds later, Jasmin sent a message: "Why didn't you pick up? Julian told me you're back at the hotel."

He could almost hear the pout in her text. She's checking up on me like she's catching me in the act. Of what? Taking a shower?

"Jasmin, I'm in the bathroom, not convenient right now," Paul texted back.

Right after he sent that message, Jasmin quickly replied.

"Really? I don't believe you. Show me! (⊙o⊙)"

Paul glanced around the bathroom, his eyes landing on a large rubber duck sitting on the edge of the tub.

"I'm afraid I'll scare you, Jasmin. Didn't you say you have a fear of… oversized things?"

"Nonsense, I don't! And how many times have I told you—when we're alone, don't call me Jasmin. Call me Jasi!"

"Okay, Jasmin. Got it, Jasmin," he typed, quickly snapping a picture of the duck and sending it along with the message.

He didn't realize the photo included his own reflection in the mirror behind it, showing his well-toned upper body and six-pack abs on full display, while the lower half of his body was wrapped in a towel.

"... Not what I expected to see."

"Too yellow for your taste? I can find a black one if you prefer."

"That's not what I meant!" Jasmin shot back, her cheeks flushing a bit as she zoomed in on the image.

"Oh? What did you mean then, Jasmin?"

"It's Jasi! And never mind. Just... how often do you work out?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Uh, a few times a week? Why the sudden interest in my fitness routine?"

Jasmin, realizing that Paul had no idea he was visible in the photo, decided to have some fun. "Oh, no reason. Just thinking about implementing a new company-wide wellness program. You know, for all our artists."

"Right, and you'll be personally overseeing everyone's progress?"

"Only the top performers," Jasmin texted. "Speaking of which, how about a private session to discuss your... technique?"

"My technique? I guess I could show you a few vocal exercises if you're really interested."

On the other end of the phone, Jasmin was speechless. Is he really this dense, or is he just messing with me?

She looked at her own reflection in the mirror—her exquisite face and perfect figure, not to mention her rather well-endowed… assets.

Seriously, why can't I win over Paul?

Could he possibly... No, that can't be it. She quickly dismissed the idea, refusing to entertain it further.

Nobody's that oblivious... right?

Pouting, she became more and more frustrated but then remembered some of the jokes circulating after Paul's recent concert, which lightened her mood a bit.

She forwarded the trending videos to Paul and typed, "Hmph, I'll let you off this time. Check this out—you're the company's top star now."

It's not like her to back off so easily, Paul mused as he toweled off.

On his phone screen, he quickly saw the trending post she had sent.

[Singer Anilani: Please, this is my concert. Let me sing at least two songs... Even just one!]