Two children bickered.

"I don't want to go there, I want an LKW!"

"You always want LKWs," his friend grumbled. "Fine, but next time we're getting pizza."

On a bridge nearby, a young man, looking about eighteen years old, was preparing to end his life that night.

As for the reason? It all began with an online romance.

At seventeen, he was a rising gaming streamer. Having never experienced love before, he was unprepared for the overwhelming fondness he felt after connecting with a girl online.

And one offline meeting was all it took for him to believe she was the one. But… looking at the string of messages she sent, the young man felt utterly hopeless.

"I don't care about money; I just want to see how important I am to you!"

"Oh, by the way, about your apartment, don't put your parents' names on it. You need to transfer it to me."

Standing on the bridge, he gazed at the distant, bright city. The city's nightscape was beautiful, and the world was vast. But from now on, it would have nothing to do with him.

He transferred his remaining 20,000 euros to her, habitually noting in the memo: For my love.

Without hesitation, he leaped off the bridge. As he plummeted toward certain death, something impossible happened—a soul crossed over.

"What the...?"

Splat!

Splash, splash…

Before he could process the new life information in his mind, Paul had already plunged into the water. Instinct took over, and he started swimming up.

At that moment, he had only one thought in his head.

"Thank god this isn't my old body. With all that alcohol, I'd have sunk like a stone."

---

Two and a half years later.

"Bro, your concert tonight was absolutely amazing!"

"I saw the entire audience going wild, and many fans started singing along at top volume!"

"It was unbelievable! I always said you're something else. It seems like the future of the music scene belongs to you. That Tommy kid is decent, but when it comes to singing, he's got nothing on you!"

"Look, the concert just ended, and you've already topped the trending charts…"

He ignored his assistant, who couldn't stop grinning.

After getting into the car, he leaned back, hands behind his head, with an expression of complete indifference, as if in some post-performance calm. His assistant couldn't understand it at all. Why did Paul always seem hesitant and uneasy after his concerts?

Could it be that he wasn't satisfied with his performance? That couldn't be it!

Paul, in just two and a half years since his debut, had become one of the most legendary figures in the industry. Since then, every concert had sold out, with tens of thousands of seats completely filled.

Not only had he made it, but even his assistant and assistant were earning loads of money. But despite all this, why did he always seem unhappy after his concerts? Wasn't this success enough?

He shot his assistant a cold glance. Successful?

From start to finish, I didn't sing a single song at the concert... And you call this success?

---

In his previous life, before the transmigration, Paul had been a folk singer. As everyone knew, even second-tier folk singers didn't make much money. And he hadn't even been second-tier—he had been more like fourth or fifth... or worse.

He had had a girlfriend he had dated for four years. She had been kind, understanding, and very supportive of his career.

He had stood on the tiny stage. Another night at The Rusty Nail, another handful of coins tossed into his guitar case. Four years of chasing his folk singer dreams, and he had still been playing to half-empty bars.

Maria had waited by the door, her smile encouraging but tired. "You were great tonight," she had said as they had walked home.

In their cramped studio apartment, he had counted out the night's earnings. "Fifteen euros," he had sighed. "Plus five from yesterday."

Maria had bit her lip. "The rent's due next week."

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"I know. I'll pick up extra shifts at the grocery store."

But even with both of them working multiple jobs, they had been barely treading water.

One night, after a particularly dismal gig, Maria had sat him down at their wobbly kitchen table.

"I have an idea," she had said, twisting her hair nervously. "It's... not great. But hear me out."

He had listened in growing disbelief as she had explained.

Her coworker had known a wealthy heir, always flashing his money around. If Maria had pretended to date him, she could have funneled some cash their way. Just until Paul had gotten his big break.

"Absolutely not," he had protested.

But as the days had passed and their situation had grown more desperate, his resolve had weakened. The landlord had been threatening eviction. They had been eating ramen for every meal. And Maria had insisted she could handle it.

But he couldn't let her do that, no matter how bad things had gotten.

Then, slowly, things had started to change. Better food had appeared in their fridge. His girlfriend had worn nicer clothes. Their apartment had felt... comfortable.

She had even handed him envelopes of cash.

"Where's all this coming from?" Paul had asked suspiciously.

"I got promoted! Isn't it great?"

It hadn't seemed like she had been lying. He had wanted to believe her but there had still been a bit of doubt.

Weeks later, he had gotten amazing news – he'd booked a gig at a real venue. Excited, he had rushed to surprise Maria at work.

"Maria?" her coworker had frowned. "She hasn't worked here in three months."

Paul had felt like he'd been punched. He had quickly called Maria. "I'm at your office. They say you quit months ago. What's going on?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry, Paul. I didn't want you to find out like this."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"No! I swear we never"

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not lying! But Paul... I can't go back to how we were living before. I just can't."

"We can make it work," Paul had pleaded. "I just got a big gig. Things are looking up—"

"I'm sorry," Maria had said softly. "It's over."

The call had ended.

He had stood there, stunned. All those nights of practice, all the songs he'd written for her, all meaningless now.

In a daze, he had wandered the city streets. Without realizing it, he had found himself on the old bridge overlooking the river. The same bridge where he and Maria used to watch sunsets, dreaming of better days.

He had leaned against the railing. Below, the dark water had reflected the city lights.

He had climbed up the old bridge with a half-empty bottle in his hand, and had swayed slightly on the wide ledge. The city lights had blurred as he had taken another swig. A melody had come into his mind: For You by Yvonne.

How fitting.

~

Your gentle touch, I'll always recall 

The road ahead, how far does it go? 

You held my hand through it all 

But freedom's price, it weighed on my soul

~

Maria had claimed to want freedom, but she'd just traded one cage for a gilded one.

Paul had laughed bitterly, nearly choking on the words. He had thought of Maria, probably on a plane to some exotic location with her new wealthy boyfriend. The thought had made him dizzy or had that been the alcohol?

He had thought of all the compromises, the sacrifices they'd both made. And for what?

The irony hadn't been lost on him.

She had started this scheme to support his dream, and now that dream had felt hollow. She'd been seduced by a world he could never provide, leaving him behind with nothing but songs of love and loss.

He had stood up unsteadily.

"You know what, Maria?" he had shouted to the night. "Some people you can't let go of because they've already let go of you. And the life you think you can't live without?"

"Hahaha."

"Someone else is living it to the fullest."

What am I even doing? I am just a hypocrite...

His foot had accidentally slipped. He had tried to regain his balance, but it had been too late. Drunk, he had fallen off the bridge, spinning freely through the air.

Maybe this is for the best.

As a white light had flashed, Paul had found himself in another world.

This world had been called Erd, very similar to the world he had known. He had been in a country called Germo. The entertainment industry there had been far more developed, filled with stars and artists he had never heard of.

One thing had remained the same: the person he had crossed into had also been named Paul, and he too had just gone through a heartbreak.

After receiving all the memories of the previous owner of this body, he had only been able to chuckle coldly.

"Screw love. I've reincarnated! Who the hell would still be a simp?"

"As expected, simps get nothing in the end!"

Falling into the cold water had completely sobered him up, even though this new body hadn't had a speck of alcohol in its system.

He had soon realized that this world had had very little folk music, and almost none of the popular songs from his previous world had existed here.

In an instant, a bold idea had popped into his mind.

Soon after his arrival in this new world, Paul had joined a major entertainment company. He had initially wanted to use his real name, but his boss had insisted it wasn't a good stage name. On the spot, he had come up with Anilani.

Don't ask him why, it had just popped into his head. In the second half of that year, he had released three folk songs in succession under this new alias.

Southern Breeze, Girl Next Door and Summer Dream.

These three songs, each with a distinct style, had instantly topped the music charts. On platforms like ATable, Spoontify, and YourToaster, his songs had broken hundreds of millions of plays.

The name Anilani had become famous overnight.

What was even more astonishing was his consistent output. Over the past two and a half years, he has released a new song every month, each one a folk hit that listeners play on repeat. Insiders even claim that Paul has the talent to release a great folk song every day, but to give other artists a chance, he limits himself to one per month.

This statement has caused an uproar!

Before this, not even fans' 'forever god of pop music,' Tommy the Gum, could achieve this. After all, Tommy has been in the industry for over a decade and only has a handful of well-known hits. Yet Paul, producing a hit every month, seemed unreal.

Many speculated: Was the music scene about to change?

Tommy remained calm, as most of Paul's hits were just folk songs, which he didn't see as serious competition. Folk music lacked the technicality and polish to win prestigious awards at major music festivals. And he had won the Best Song Award three years in a row.

So he wasn't feeling the pressure.

However, Paul didn't care about fame. In his previous life as a folk singer, his goal had always been to share sincere emotions and his love for life through his songs. Now, being able to hold concerts and set attendance records was already a dream come true.

The only thing that bothered him was that as soon as he started singing at his concerts, the audience broke into a massive sing-along. Their voices drowned out his completely!

For a whole concert, out of the fifteen songs he planned to sing, he only sang two. And that was only because they were so new the audience hadn't learned them yet. Even then, once he started, he was immediately drowned out by the crowd.

This gave him a headache. What kind of fans were these? Weren't they there to listen to him sing?

They came here, paid money, just to sing themselves? Did they think this was a sing-along at a pub?