Chapter 43: Calm Before the Storm
Mid-November 2015
Autumn had arrived in California, bringing with it cooler air and shorter days. Michael had relaxed a bit. Life, for the first time in nine months, had found a kind of predictable rhythm.
His routine was simple. He woke up. Made coffee. Worked on music. And then, he went to school.
Well, "went" to school was a generous term.
He went to classes, but his enrollment in the independent study program meant he no longer had to endure the day-to-day grind. He only had to show up on campus a couple of times a week to hand in assignments or take exams.
This made him an even more mythical figure in high school.
He was no longer the "Zombie" who slept in the back row. Now he was the "Ghost Artist". He appeared out of nowhere, in his hoodie and glasses, handed in an algebra exam (which he passed effortlessly) and disappeared before the lunch bell rang.
His local fame, driven by 'Paris' and 'White Iverson', kept growing. He could no longer walk down the hall without someone greeting him or asking for a photo.
"Mike! Dude, 'Paris' is insane!" shouted a goth kid on Tuesday.
"Michael, can we take a selfie?" asked a girl on Wednesday.
He was getting used to it.
At first, they asked for photos and he would tense up, mumbling a "no". But he realized it was easier to just accept.
He learned to put on a tired half-smile, nod, and say "thanks, I appreciate it". If they respected his boundaries and weren't too loud, Michael took the photos gladly, albeit awkwardly. It was a quick transaction. They got their digital trophy, and he got to be left alone.
His real social life happened on the weekends.
He met up with Leo, Sam, and Nate. Sometimes they went to his house to play Call of Duty. Other times, they just drove around in his Corolla, listening to music, talking about nothing.
It was... normal. A strange and fractured normality, but it felt good.
He had adapted. The pain of his lost past was still there, a constant hum in the back of his mind. But daily life, finally, was bearable.
Michael arrived home in his Corolla after handing in an assignment at school. The sky, which had been gray all day, finally opened up. It started to rain.
It wasn't a violent storm, but a steady, cold rain that turned the outside world into a watery blur. He liked this weather. It made him feel like his decision to stay inside was justified.
He entered his rented house. The silence was total, broken only by the rhythmic sound of rain hitting the roof. It was the perfect atmosphere.
He went to the kitchen, made himself a hot, strong coffee. Then he went to his studio, lit a cigarette, and sat in his Herman Miller chair.
He cracked the window open an inch. The cold, damp air came in, mixing with his cigarette smoke. He sat there for a long time, simply listening to the rain and drinking his coffee.
He was in a moment of calm. He had released 'Paris' a few weeks ago. The reaction had been exactly what he expected: the 'White Iverson' fans hated it, and his new tribe of goths loved it. It had been a niche success.
Now, he had to decide what was next.
He opened his laptop. The first thing he did was check the numbers. It was a habit, a way to measure his progress.
He opened SoundCloud and YouTube.
The figures continued to astound him. The boom of 'Sodium' and 'White Iverson' hadn't stopped. Those songs had become viral phenomena that kept attracting thousands of new listeners every day.
'White Iverson' already had over 5 million plays on SoundCloud and its YouTube video was approaching 15 million views. 'Sodium' wasn't far behind.
But the most important thing was the ripple effect. Those viral songs acted like a beacon.
He looked at the stats of his early songs. 'Ghost Boy' and 'Star Shopping' now had hundreds of thousands of plays. People arrived for the vibe of 'White Iverson' and stayed for the pain of 'Star Shopping'.
He summoned the System interface. His Impact Points balance reflected this reality. He had 96,645 IP.
He was incredibly close to 100,000. And just two songs away from reaching the 10-song Milestone, which would cost him 25,000 IP and unlock the next roulette.
He leaned back, the cigarette smoke spiraling toward the ceiling. He thought about his next move.
The plan was clear. He needed two more songs.
The first was obvious. He wanted to do 'Ghost Girl'. It was the thematic sequel to 'Ghost Boy', a closure for that first era of his identity. It was a song his original fans, the ones who gave him the most IP, would adore.
And then, number ten. The grand finale of his "SoundCloud Era".
He had to end with a bang. His gaze settled on the guide for 'Drugs You Should Try It'. It was the most complex song in his arsenal, aside from the untouchable 'Runaway'.
It was the perfect move. It would demonstrate his evolution as a producer. He would go from lo-fi beats and raw guitars to a psychedelic and professional soundscape. It would be his graduation.
The plan was drawn. 'Ghost Girl' first, and then, the grand finale.
Michael closed the System interface. He had work to do.
But the work could wait one more minute.
His mind, now free from artistic planning, inevitably drifted to his other secret. The $350,000 secret.
He opened a different tab in his browser. One that wasn't pinned, one that cleared his history every time he closed it. He typed the address of the cryptocurrency exchange.
He logged in. His eyes went straight to the balance.
437,500 ETH
The number of coins was the same. It was his anchor. But the dollar value...
Current Value: $380,625 USD
His heart skipped a beat. He opened the calculator on his Mac.
$380,625 minus his initial investment of $350,000.
That was $30,625 in profit.
He looked at the coin price. Each coin was worth 87 cents. In just 2 months, he had already made a 10% return.
He didn't feel relief. He felt a pang of icy panic.
'No', he thought, his breathing speeding up a little. 'It's too soon. It's supposed to stay at the bottom, in the valley. It's supposed to be at 80 cents.'
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the chart he had seen in 2024. He remembered a long, boring flat line for months after September. He didn't remember a 10% rise so soon.
And then, the poison entered. The poison that had been tormenting him since he made the investment.
'What if something isn't the same in this timeline?'
He got up from the chair and started pacing the studio, hands behind his head.
'What if I changed something? 'White Iverson'. 'Sodium'. They went viral. What if some developer at the Ethereum Foundation saw my video? What if he liked my music and decided to buy $1,000 in ETH for fun? What if thousands of people did that?'
He knew it was god-level paranoia. But the stakes were too high.
Sometimes he felt stressed.
The tic he had developed—checking the price—wasn't out of greed. It was out of fear.
He didn't know if things would be the same here as in his original world.
He stopped in front of the window, watching the rain.
'What if this is the peak? What if the 2018 bubble doesn't happen? What if it goes up to $1.50 and then plummets to zero? Should I sell now? Take the $30,000 profit and secure my capital?'
The idea was tempting. $400,000 in the bank. Risk-free. He could live on that for years.
But... what about the millions?
He wiped his hands over his face. No. He had to trust the plan. He had to believe the general pattern would hold.
But the doubt was there. A small seed of terror living in his stomach 24/7. It was a constant stress that was a thousand times worse than the work at the Burger Barn.
Michael stared at the Ethereum chart on his laptop. The small 10% rise wasn't comforting; it was a source of stress. He closed the exchange tab. He needed a distraction, something that wasn't his multimillion-dollar plan.
He opened Instagram.
The contrast was immediate. Unlike the tense silence of his crypto wallet, his social media was a chaos of noise and activity.
He saw the comments on his posts. His new goth fans were arguing heatedly with the 'White Iverson' fans in the comments section of his latest photo.
"'Paris' is his best song! The rest is emo trash!" "Are you kidding? 'Star Shopping' is a masterpiece. 'Paris' is just noise."
Michael laughed. It was chaos, but it was his chaos. He loved it.
He kept scrolling down. He saw a comment from Chloe, his first fan.
"Hey, 'Life Is Beautiful' was intense. Are you okay?"
He saw another one from Victor, the guy from Spain.
"Dude, 'Paris' is insane. I don't know what you're going through, but keep going."
He realized he hadn't posted anything in weeks, since he uploaded 'Life Is Beautiful'. His fans, both new and old, were hungry. And he was there, hiding, stressing over a price chart.
He felt a little guilty. They were giving him their attention, and he was ignoring them.
He decided to calm them down and, at the same time, build anticipation for his next move.
He looked around. His studio was bathed in the gray light of the rain. The half-empty cup of coffee was on his desk, next to his lyrics notebook.
He grabbed his phone. Opened the Instagram camera.
He uploaded a photo. Not of his face. It was an artistic shot. A black and white photo of his Neumann microphone, with his notebook and coffee cup next to it. The light from the rain made the photo look melancholic and professional.
He wrote a simple caption.
"It's raining. Time to work. Working on new music."
He posted the photo.
In less than a minute, the "likes" started pouring in. 10. 50. 200.
And the comments.
"YES! NEW MUSIC!" "Will it be like 'White Iverson' or like 'Paris'?" "Don't make us wait so long!" "King, we need you."
Michael closed the laptop. The Ethereum anxiety was still there, a constant hum. But now, he had another hum: that of his fans' expectation.
The work, the music... was his only cure. And it was time to give them the next song. It was time to work on 'Ghost Girl'.