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The venue was small.
Too small to be called a stage.
It was a café—one of those places that tried to look artistic by dimming the lights and placing a microphone near the window. The kind of place where people came to drink overpriced coffee and pretend they understood music.
Which made it perfect.
No reporters.No agencies.No expectations.
Yueyin stood beside me, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
"This is it?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"…There are only, like, twenty people."
"Exactly."
She looked unconvinced. "What if no one listens?"
I leaned closer. "Then nothing changes. That's the best kind of risk."
She took a deep breath.
And nodded.
She wasn't alone.
Sitting near the front was a girl I hadn't met before—long dark hair tied loosely, glasses resting on her nose, posture relaxed but alert. She waved enthusiastically when she saw Yueyin.
"Yueyin! Over here!"
Yueyin's shoulders loosened instantly.
"My best friend," she whispered to me. "I told you about her."
I remembered.
The one person Yueyin never lied to.
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Lin Xiaoyu."
Xiaoyu smiled at me politely when our eyes met.
Not flirtatious.
Not distant.
Just… warm.
"Is this your brother?" she asked Yueyin.
"Yes," Yueyin replied casually. "He's my manager."
Xiaoyu raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down.
"…You don't look like one."
I chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She laughed softly.
That laugh lingered longer in my ears than it should have.
Yueyin stepped onto the small platform.
No spotlight. No dramatic entrance.
Just her, the mic, and a guitar track playing softly through cheap speakers.
She hesitated.
For half a second.
I caught her eye and nodded.
She inhaled—and sang.
Her voice wasn't perfect.
It trembled at the start.
But it was real.
The café quieted.
People stopped talking. Cups paused mid-air. Conversations faded into background noise.
No applause yet.
Just listening.
That was enough.
I watched Xiaoyu's reaction more than the crowd's.
Her eyes widened slightly.Her fingers stilled on her cup.She leaned forward without realizing it.
Good.
Very good.
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By the second verse, Yueyin had steadied herself.
Her voice flowed naturally now, carried by emotion instead of nerves.
She wasn't trying to impress.
She was telling a story.
When the song ended, there was a pause.
Then clapping.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
But sincere.
Someone whistled.
Someone said, "That was nice."
Nice was dangerous.
Nice meant potential.
Yueyin stepped down, cheeks flushed.
She walked straight to me.
"…I didn't mess up," she said quietly.
"No," I replied. "You survived."
She smiled.
A real one.
Xiaoyu approached us.
"That was beautiful," she said honestly. "I didn't know you could sing like that."
Yueyin puffed up instantly. "Of course I can."
I rolled my eyes.
Xiaoyu turned to me. "You wrote the song, right?"
I blinked. "How did you—?"
"She hums it all the time," Xiaoyu said with a small smile. "And she said only you helped her."
That was a dangerous assumption.
And yet… she didn't look suspicious.
Just curious.
"I helped," I said carefully.
She studied me for a moment.
Then nodded. "You're good at it."
No praise. No exaggeration.
Just a statement.
For some reason, that meant more.
As we left the café, Yueyin bounced between us.
"Did you see their faces?" she said excitedly. "They were listening!"
"They were," Xiaoyu agreed. "You looked happy up there."
Yueyin hesitated.
"I was… scared," she admitted.
Xiaoyu smiled. "That means it mattered."
I watched the two of them talk, something tightening in my chest.
Xiaoyu wasn't like Yueyin.
She didn't shine.
She steadied.
The kind of person who didn't steal the spotlight—but made it safer to stand under it.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
That night, after Yueyin went to sleep, my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
"I was at the café tonight.""She's better than I expected."
The hater.
I didn't reply.
I didn't need to.
Another message arrived moments later.
From Xiaoyu.
"Thank you for taking care of her."
I stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Then typed back.
"I will."
And for the first time since the system appeared, I wasn't thinking about missions, growth curves, or the industry.
I was thinking about the girl who watched quietly—
And saw more than anyone else.
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