I woke up with the sun streaming directly into my eyes through the curtainless window.
For one glorious, confusing moment, I didn't know where I was. My brain was still half-asleep, stuck between dreams and reality, and for a split second I thought I was in my old apartment, that it had all been a strange, very detailed dream.
Then I sat up.
And the pain in my back from sleeping on a mattress with the consistency of a stone brought me back to reality brutally.
"Oh, crap," I muttered, rubbing the small of my back. "This is worse than that sofa I died on."
Wait.
Did I really just say that out loud?
"Okay, mental note," I said to the empty apartment, my voice still hoarse from sleep, "stop talking about dying so casually. That's kind of morbid. And weird. Definitely weird."
But at least my voice sounded amazing even when morning-hoarse. So I had that.
I dragged myself out of bed, my bare feet touching the cold wooden floor, and staggered towards the tiny bathroom.
Three minutes later, after discovering the shower had only two settings—"Antarctic ice" or "infernal lava," with no middle ground—I was somewhat more awake and significantly more irritated.
"Seriously?" I said to the showerhead as I dried myself with a thin towel that had seen better days. "Two million dollars arriving today and I can't even get warm water? The universe has a very questionable sense of humor."
I put on an old hoodie and pajama pants—because, frankly, who was I trying to impress?—and went back to the main room.
My stomach growled loud enough to echo.
Right. Food. That was a thing.
I opened the mini-fridge with hope and found: half a gallon of milk that smelled suspicious, two yogurts that expired last week, and something green that might have been lettuce in a previous life.
"Perfect," I muttered, closing the fridge with a sigh.
But before I went out to get real food, there was something I needed to do.
Research.
I plopped into the desk chair—which creaked in protest—and opened my old laptop. While I waited, I decided to check the system.
"System?" I said out loud, feeling completely ridiculous. "Are you still there or was it just a fever dream?"
To my relief (and mild terror), the familiar blue screen appeared, floating in the air in front of the laptop.
---
[ SUCCESS SYSTEM ]
Name: Cassandra
Age: 20 Years
Path: Singer
Stats:
Strength: 34/100
Agility: 46 /100
Intelligence: 81 /100
Charm: 68 /100
Willpower: 77/100
Luck: 52/100
Skills:
• Angelic Voice
---
"Okay, so you're real. Cool. Totally normal." I studied the stats with growing interest. "Huh. My intelligence is 81? That's… actually very flattering. Thank you, system. You're kind."
My luck being 52 was somewhat concerning, but at least it wasn't zero? Glass half full and all that.
And my strength being 34 explained why I was out of breath after climbing three flights of stairs yesterday.
"Mental note number two: start exercising. Or at least… walk more. Maybe." I paused. "Okay, probably not. But the intention is there."
The screen blinked and disappeared.
"Hey, wait—" But it was already gone. "Alright then. See you later too."
Talking to myself. Definitely a sign of stable mental health.
My laptop finally decided to cooperate, and the home screen appeared. I opened the browser and typed into the search bar: Wetube.
Yes. Wetube.
It made no sense, but okay.
The site loaded—slowly, because my internet was apparently from 2005—and I was greeted by the familiar but strangely different homepage.
"Right," I said, rubbing my hands together like a cartoon villain. "Time to check out the competition. Hehe."
I typed "popular singers" into the search bar.
The results were… interesting.
First on the list: Melody Star - "Eternal Moonlight" (Live Performance)
I clicked on the video.
A girl with platinum blonde hair and bright blue eyes appeared on an elaborate stage. She was wearing a dress that probably cost more than my entire apartment, with special lighting effects that would make any singer from my old world jealous.
And then she started to sing.
"Oh. Oh wow." I leaned closer to the screen.
She was good. Like, really good. Her voice was crystal clear, powerful, with perfect control. The comments below the video were equally impressed:
"Melody Star is literally an angel sent from heaven 😭"
"20 million views in 2 days??? She's INSANE"
"Just bought tickets to her concert, only cost $800 🤡"
I almost spat out imaginary water.
"EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS?!" I stared at the comment. "For one ticket? A single ticket?!"
I kept scrolling through the comments, my jaw dropping further and further.
Apparently, in this world, entertainment was huge. Like, absurdly, ridiculously huge. Singers and actors weren't just famous—they were treated like royalty. Melody Star had 100 million followers on Wetube. One hundred. Million.
"This is… this is insane," I murmured. "In my world, only the biggest artists had numbers like that. Here it's like… normal?"
I clicked on a few more videos. Every popular singer had tens of millions of followers at a minimum. Shows sold out in minutes. Merchandise sold for obscene amounts.
On one hand: scary. The competition was fierce.
On the other hand: opportunity.
If I could gain some traction, if I could go viral, the potential earnings were… well, they were enough to make my two million dollars look like pocket change.
"Okay, okay, okay," I said, my hands flapping in the air as I thought out loud. "So the plan is: record a video, post it on Wetube, try to go viral. Simple. Easy. Totally possible."
Pause.
"Except for the part where I need to decide what to sing."
I leaned back in the chair, chewing on my lower lip.
What could I sing? I had Angelic Voice now, so technically I could make any song sound amazing. But it needed to be something that stood out. Something unique. Something that would make people stop scrolling and actually listen.
I sat there for a full ten minutes, my mind completely blank.
"Come on, brain," I said, tapping lightly on my forehead. "You have 81 intelligence. Do something useful."
Nothing.
My stomach growled again, louder this time, as if judging my life choices.
"Alright, alright, I'll get food first—"
And then, as I was getting up, half-distracted and half-starving, a random thought crossed my mind.
What if I sang something from my old world?
I froze mid-movement, half-standing, half-sitting, probably looking ridiculous.
Slowly, very slowly, I sat back down.
"Wait," I said out loud. "Wait, wait, wait."
I quickly opened a new tab in the browser and typed: "Someone Like You Adelie"
No relevant results. Just a few random videos of people with similar names.
I tried another. "Rolling in the Deep"
Nothing.
"Hello"
Nothing new.
"Adelie singer"
No famous singer by that name.
My heart started beating faster.
I tried other songs. Sierra Swift. Ed Shearing. Queen B. Whitney Houston.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
"Oh my God," I whispered, staring at the screen. "The songs from my world don't exist here."
It made sense, I supposed. This was a web novel world, not my original world. Different universe, different history, different… everything.
Which meant…
"I could…" I started slowly, my mind racing. "I could technically use songs from my old world here. No one would know. No one could know."
As soon as the thought formed, I felt a pang of guilt.
Wouldn't that be… plagiarism? Theft? Completely unethical?
And then, because apparently my stressed brain likes to handle moral conflicts through ridiculous physical manifestations, I literally imagined two mini versions of myself appearing on my shoulders.
On the left shoulder: Mini-Me Angel, complete with a crooked halo and cute white wings.
On the right shoulder: Mini-Me Devil, with little horns and a mischievous smile.
"You can't do that!" Mini-Angel said, her voice high-pitched and full of moral righteousness. "It's theft! Those songs belong to talented artists who worked hard to create them!"
"Ah, but wait," Mini-Devil retorted, leaning casually against my ear. "Those artists don't exist in this world. They're in a completely different universe. Technically, you'd just be… sharing art between dimensions?"
"That's not how it works!"
"Isn't it? Think about it. These songs would never exist here otherwise. You'd basically be bringing culture and beauty to a world that would otherwise never experience it. If anything, you're like… an interdimensional cultural ambassador."
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
"Okay, I've officially lost it," I murmured. "I'm having imaginary moral arguments with myself. This is new."
But Mini-Devil had a point.
Like, a valid point.
Technically, I wouldn't be stealing from anyone in this world. The original artists didn't exist here. Their songs would never have existed here anyway.
And if I used these songs and became successful… well, I'd be bringing recognition to these songs, right? Even if it was in a different universe?
"They should thank me," I said out loud, testing the words. "Technically."
"EXACTLY!" Mini-Devil struck a victorious pose.
"That's TERRIBLE logic!" Mini-Angel protested.
I sat there for a long moment, pondering.
On one hand: moral integrity, not stealing artistic work, being a decent person.
On the other hand: survival, not dying miserably like in the original novel, having a real chance at success.
I thought about Cassandra. About how she had fought and fought and fought and still lost everything. About how she died alone, hated, with no one to care.
I thought about my previous life. About how I had been so common. So forgettable. Working a job I hated, living alone, with no one who really cared if I disappeared.
I didn't want to be an accessory. I didn't want to be forgettable. I didn't want to die miserably.
I wanted to live. I wanted to succeed. I wanted to prove that Cassandra wasn't just a disposable villain.
"You know what?" I said, my voice growing firmer. "Screw it. I'm doing it."
Mini-Angel let out a sigh of imaginary defeat and vanished in a cloud of disappointed glitter.
Mini-Devil gave a victorious smile, gave me two thumbs up, and also vanished.
And I was alone again, staring at the laptop screen, a decision made.
I was going to use songs from my old world.
I was going to adapt them, perform them with my Angelic Voice, and make them mine in this universe.
"Okay," I said, opening a new blank tab and starting to type. "Let's make a list. Songs I remember. Songs I love. Songs that would make people go 'DANG, WHO IS THAT GIRL?'"
My fingers flew over the keyboard as I typed from memory:
---
POTENTIAL SONGS:
Adelie:
· Someone Like You
· Rolling in the Deep
· Hello
· When We Were Young
Whitney Houston:
· I Will Always Love You
· Greatest Love of All
Céline Dion:
· My Heart Will Go On
· The Power of Love
Christina Aguilera:
· Beautiful
· Hurt
Queen B:
· Halo
· Listen
---
I kept going, adding more and more, my mind digging up memories of nights spent listening to playlists (or would it be… Streamify here?), singing off-key in the shower, going to karaoke and making people's ears bleed.
When I was done, I had a list of about thirty songs.
"Okay," I leaned back, feeling a mix of excitement and terror. "Now I just need to choose which one to use first. Something impactful. Something that will make people stop and really feel something."
My eyes scanned the list, considering each option.
It needed to be something emotionally powerful. Something that showcased my voice. Something where Angelic Voice could really shine.
My cursor hovered over "Someone Like You".
Piano ballad. Emotionally devastating. Perfect for showing vocal control and raw emotion.
"This one," I said, clicking on the song to highlight it. "This will be the first one."
Now I just needed to figure out how to record it with decent quality, since my Xphone probably had a potato for a camera and my laptop was from the Jurassic era.
But that was a problem for after I ate something.
Because now that I had a plan, my stomach was growling loud enough to wake the neighbors.
I stood up, grabbed my wallet and keys, and stopped at the door.
I looked back at the laptop, at the list of songs still on the screen.
"This is going to work," I said out loud, because apparently talking to myself was my new personality. "It has to. Because the alternative is dying miserably, and honestly? I've done that once. Don't recommend it."
And with that extremely questionable motivational statement, I left the apartment in search of breakfast.