Chapter Fifty-Five: The Magnificent High Notes of the Celestial Deity

As the collective countdown of the fans reached its climax, every gaze in the arena was fixed upon the stage. Yet Renna Tsukimiya paid little attention to what lay ahead, instead stealing furtive glances at Chen Zi’ang from the corner of her eye.

Although her senior had mentioned that the tickets were a gift from a former case’s victim, seats of such prime position were hardly something the average person could acquire—no matter how quick their fingers, it simply wasn’t possible to snatch them from any online outlet, as they were never made publicly available.

In truth, if her suspicions were correct, these tickets must have been reserved by the organizers themselves, meant for those of special standing: record label executives, renowned music critics, familiar entertainment reporters, or celebrities within the industry’s inner circle.

Who could possibly have gifted these tickets to her senior?

At that very moment, music erupted from the stage, instantly igniting the atmosphere inside the Budokan. The arena reverberated with wild cheers and screams, as if set ablaze.

In the aisle not far ahead, Chen Zi’ang spotted the four otakus who had queued with him earlier. With practiced ease, they unfurled their banners and began to wave glow sticks with almost feverish devotion, launching into an impassioned wotagei dance as they shouted:

“Kiritani! My favorite!”

“Maki! The best!”

Ordinarily, even if no nearby audience member stepped in to intervene, staff would surely arrive to remove anyone disrupting others’ enjoyment of the concert. But now, no one paid them any heed. The moment the familiar melody filled the air, every eye was irresistibly drawn to the stage, as if moths were helplessly drawn to a roaring flame.

And from the very center of that stage rose a woman clad in resplendent formal attire, possessed of a beauty almost unearthly—she was the blazing heart of that inferno.

Maki Kiritani, or rather, Zili Xia, had given Chen Zi’ang the impression of a gentle, delicate, and refined lady in their private meeting. Yet what she now revealed to the audience was a far more outgoing, passionate, and vibrant side of herself.

“If you cannot bear the darkness, why long for the dawn?” She gripped the microphone in her right hand, singing with abandon and emotion. “If fear and helplessness seize you, just close your eyes…”

“The Power of a Beating Heart,” Maki Kiritani’s debut single, was a simple, motivational anthem, yet it caused a stir in the music world upon release.

The reason was clear: the song’s high notes were so demanding that even many seasoned singers admitted they struggled to reach them.

High notes may more readily convey emotion, but they place immense demands on the vocal muscles.

Most people, when attempting such heights, are forced to use falsetto, which often sounds shrill and thin—unpleasant to the ear.

However, Maki Kiritani’s top notes were not only resounding, but astonishingly powerful. As one famous critic put it, “It’s like a god drawing a bow, loosing arrows that pierce the very heavens.”

Or, to borrow the words of a celebrated vocalist, “Maki Kiritani was born with a supremely broad range—she commands five octaves with ease. Even at her highest, her voice remains clean and pure, utterly free from any harsh or trembling impurity.”

Those with a trained ear recognized how extraordinary this was—a voice seemingly forged of steel, reaching a level nearly unattainable by mere mortals. Yet, considering her half-elven heritage, perhaps it could be explained.

As for the fans, most had no real grasp of what “effortlessly commanding five octaves” even meant.

But the nickname “the god’s dazzling high notes” resonated deeply, awakening a certain chuunibyou spirit within the island nation’s people, and propelling her fame to its zenith almost overnight.

“…So hold tight—this is the heartbeat’s power, ours alone—” The last lyric soared on Maki Kiritani’s signature, resplendent, soaring, and fiercely emotional high note, its force overwhelming even the venue’s powerful speakers, the soundwaves carrying all the way to the rearmost seats of the Budokan.

She then lowered the microphone and bowed to the audience, her flawless face betraying not the slightest trace of fatigue, as if she’d merely sung an ordinary song.

But the arena had been set alight. Across from Chen Zi’ang and Renna Tsukimiya, in the stands of the northern section, many fans leapt to their feet, waving their arms and shouting with unrestrained fervor.

There were fewer diehards in the eastern section; most seemed to be casual spectators, so the prevailing reaction was a chorus of exclamations—“Wow,” “Oh my god,” “Amazing,” “How does she hit those notes?”—rather than wild fanatical cheers.

Of course, not everyone maintained their composure.

The four otakus in front, who had been dancing earlier, now sank to their knees, fists clenched and pumping in the air, as if they’d just witnessed their national team win the World Cup.

In Chen Zi’ang’s former life, his country’s team had never won the World Cup, so while he was deeply impressed by Zili Xia’s singing, he felt no urge to pound the floor in jubilation, nor could he quite empathize with these fanatics.

He was about to say something to Renna Tsukimiya when he noticed a young woman, tears streaming down her face, being helped from the front rows by two staff members.

“Lady Maki, my goddess, wuaaaaah!” The girl sobbed inconsolably, her beauty washed away by tears, yet she still clung to the staff, her voice delirious and fervent like a zealot. “I’ve supported her and her alone since her debut! Now I can die without regrets! Do you hear me? I swear to god, I can die without regrets now!”

“There, there, miss, please calm down,” the staff replied, humoring her, “Let’s have some tea in the lounge, then come back for the next song, all right?”

Chen Zi’ang watched as she was led away, marveling at the power of Zili Xia’s voice—or rather, at the sheer intensity of these utterly obsessed solo fans. It was honestly a little frightening.

Are all her fans like this? he thought, inwardly pointing at them.

“My, she really is quite something, isn’t she?” Renna Tsukimiya smiled beside him. “Little Zhu looks so happy—what do you think, senior?”

Chen Zi’ang turned to look, and saw his little sister’s face adorned with a faint smile. Though it was only a barely perceptible lift at the corners of her mouth, it warmed Chen Zi’ang’s heart, confirming that bringing her along had been the right decision.

“I think she’s excellent,” he said sincerely. “Better than any other singer I’ve heard… Well, that’s my personal taste, at least.”

“Is that so?” Renna Tsukimiya propped her chin on her hand, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

She took a sip of her beer, gaze lingering on the stage, though he couldn’t guess what was on her mind.

At that moment, as if sensing something, Zili Xia on stage glanced their way. She didn’t notice Renna Tsukimiya, but picked Chen Zi’ang out of the crowd, and immediately waved in greeting.

You really did come…

In that instant, nearly the entire east section rose to their feet, excited fans waving back toward the stage—whether casual spectators or devoted supporters, none hesitated to express their love for her voice in this way.

Yet from Zili Xia’s vantage on the stage, Chen Zi’ang, still seated, was instantly obscured by the fans standing before him.

Renna Tsukimiya chuckled inwardly and offered her beer can to the right.

“Senior, cheers?”

“Oh.” Chen Zi’ang obediently opened a can, not sure what exactly she was celebrating. “Cheers.”