The Red Dragon Lord is OP, but Insists on a Pop Culture Invasion!

Chapter 267: Chapter 219: A Ragtag Troupe on the Big Stage (Part 2)

"Will our first episode even be long enough to fill the planned runtime?" Sir Gordo asked uncertainly.

He had, after all, sunk most of his savings into this show.

If he couldn’t make the money back, it would be difficult to even keep the orphanage running.

A few of the child soloists from the orphanage’s choir had also come to compete.

Gordo wasn’t too worried about the children he’d trained. Despite their young age, they had performed at many major events.

His original plan was for them to pass the first round, then bring the entire choir on stage for a guest performance later in the show.

He was probably one of the first people in this world to realize the immense value of a fan economy.

He also wanted to use this platform to build an entertainment business and escape his family’s trade in Mechanical Armor—a business always accompanied by blood and disaster.

It wasn’t exactly exploiting the children; they also needed a way to make a living. It was a win-win.

That was why, even more than Zog, he couldn’t bear to see this show fail.

If Zog failed, he’d have plenty of other chances to try again. The entire Magic Vision Platform belonged to him, after all.

But if he failed, there was no telling when another opportunity might come along.

"Not quite," Zog replied.

"What about pitch correction? Don’t you have special Magic for post-production tuning?"

Gordo knew about the Zog Group’s tuning Magic. Nearly every album recording used it these days. As long as the singing wasn’t completely awful, it could be adjusted to sound excellent.

’It feels like becoming a singer has gotten a lot easier,’ he thought.

"At this level, it’s impossible. They’re too far off-key. If we tried to force it, the final sound would be... how do I put it? It wouldn’t sound human. It would be incredibly stiff and fake."

Zog had wanted to use the term "autotune," but it wouldn’t be appropriate here. Gordo wouldn’t understand.

If he were to fix the pitch for these performances and post them on a video site back on Earth, the screen would definitely be flooded with comments saying, "drowning in autotune."

"Ah, then how can we salvage this? Should we reduce the total number of episodes? Or maybe recruit the professional singers and Minstrels who were eliminated and have them fix up their performances to fill the time?"

Sir Gordo was starting to regret his insistence on the show’s "authenticity." He should have built in more safety nets to at least guarantee a decent result.

"Don’t worry. A show can become very popular if it’s bad enough," Zog said.

Although he didn’t particularly want the show to become famous for being terrible, that’s just how audiences were. If something was astonishingly bad, it could generate a lot of buzz.

Many people would come just to see what all the fuss was about.

’Huh? Something’s getting trashed this badly? I have to go see it for myself.’

That was pretty much how it went.

"Haha," Sir Gordo chuckled dryly, thinking Zog was teasing him.

"Or there’s another way to turn things around: have someone absolutely incredible appear out of nowhere," Zog added.

"That way, all the awkward performances from before will just serve as a setup for the big reveal."

The edited version would basically be a quick montage of the singers’ failures, the judges—led by Roline—giving negative reviews, and a few disgusted faces in the audience.

Then you’d cut to an interview clip with a staff member asking something emotional, like, "Is this really the best Twin Tower City’s music scene has to offer?"

Finally, the last contestant, preferably someone who looks completely ordinary, comes on stage and delivers a perfect performance, making all four judges turn their chairs.

And there you have it: a classic "proving them wrong" moment.

Proving the judges and the production team, who seemed to be looking down on Twin Tower City, completely wrong.

Hearing Zog’s scenario, Gordo opened the contestant list to see who was up next.

"Susan Stone, a middle-aged farm woman from a small mountain village. Loved singing since she was a child, self-taught. She especially excels at the local folk singing style..."

Gordo didn’t have high hopes.

’She doesn’t look like she’d be a particularly good singer.’

Her photo matched the stereotype of a woman from a small village perfectly: rough skin from years of manual labor and a stout figure. It wasn’t the stoutness of obesity, but of powerful, muscular arms covered by a layer of fat.

If you asked her to do farm work, Gordo was sure she’d be an expert.

As for performing...

"Oh, so it’s Elsa’s mother’s turn."

"This is Elsa’s mother?"

An even worse thought crossed Gordo’s mind. ’Don’t tell me Elsa’s mother is a plant?’

’Since I’m an outsider to the Zog Group, they probably didn’t tell me.’

’The show’s situation is already grim. If we get caught up in some shady dealings... if it’s not obvious, maybe it’s fine. But if it gets exposed, we’ll be finished. Our reputation would be completely ruined.’

"I have a good feeling about her. Her singing style is fascinating."

The word "fascinating" jogged Gordo’s memory.

"She’s the one who does that ’lei-lo-lo-lei-lo-lo-lei’ thing."

"Yes, the ’lei-lo-lo-lei-lo-lo-lei’ one," Zog nodded.

Susan’s singing style was very similar to a folk style from the Alps Region on Earth: yodeling.

Not the kind associated with gnomes.

"She’s singing... let me see." Gordo remembered that the title of the demo Susan submitted was also quite unique. "It’s called, *The Vegetables in the Field Walk on Their Own*."

A very folk-song-esque title, indeed.

Amid the production team’s anticipation, Susan’s Mother walked onto the stage with confident strides.

"Oh, heavens, this lady is gorgeous!"

This praise came from the Dwarven members of the audience.

Elsa’s mother did indeed fit the Dwarven aesthetic perfectly. Her height wasn’t a problem; to them, strong was beautiful.

"Yeah, if only she were a Dwarf. It’s a shame Human women don’t have beards."

"Right, I agree. How can a woman be considered exceptional without a beautiful beard?"

"I don’t care, this is good enough. If she makes it to the next round and her opponent isn’t a Dwarf, I’m giving all my votes to her, no matter how she sings."

"Seconded."

"I don’t know, there’s something weird about the way you’re looking at her. This lady is clearly married. Look at the close-up on the screen; she’s wearing a ring."

The Dwarf felt his companion’s appreciation for the Human singer was straying beyond the scope of simple fandom.

’Then again, maybe there’s a certain type of fan who has... inappropriate fantasies about their idols,’ he mused.

"So what if she’s married? That doesn’t affect my sincere feelings for her..."

"You’ve really got some issues."

Unbeknownst to Susan, she had already gained a group of Dwarven fans before she had even performed.

Things in the entertainment world were often hard to predict. You never knew what specific trait would attract fans.

On stage, Susan gave a slight bow and gripped the microphone in her hand.

The accompaniment began—a cheerful plucked instrument with a fast rhythm that made you want to sway along.

"Hey, don’t stand up! You’re blocking me."

"Why don’t you stand up, too?"

"I’m a Dwarf! I can’t see even if I stand up!"

A strange argument broke out in the audience.

In front of the monitoring screen, Sir Gordo wasn’t too excited. The accompaniment had gotten off to a good start, but that didn’t guarantee success.

The live band was top-notch. If he remembered correctly, this song didn’t have an instrumental score, or even a standard sheet of music. The band had created the accompaniment independently based on Susan’s audition. It was a testament to the band’s skill, not necessarily Susan’s.

"The hardworking farmer’s in the field, lei-lo-lo-lei-lo-lo-lei,

"She puts her hoe aside to sing out loud, lei-lo-lo-lei-lo-lo-lei,

"The pumpkins, potatoes, tomatoes, lei-lo-lo-lei-lo-lo-lei,

"All line up on their own and walk to market day!

"Aha! Lei-lo-lo-lei-lo-lo-lei..."

Susan’s powerful, infectious voice got the entire audience moving.

Except, of course, for the Dwarves who were completely blocked from view.

In an instant, a joyous atmosphere filled the venue.

This singing style was so interesting! No one had ever heard anything like it, but it was incredibly fun, and everyone could understand it.

And when contrasted with the previous contestants, her skill seemed immense.

In fact, it truly was.

Susan’s performance was flawless. She even led the audience in a dance while she sang, without it affecting her breath control in the slightest.

She was a natural-born performer, built for singing and dancing.

This was the strength that came from years of farm work—excellent stamina and excellent breath control.

No amount of dance training in a practice room could compare to this.

Susan’s earlier statement had actually been right: to sing well, it was better to be a little plump or strong.

The song wasn’t long, just over three minutes.

When the song ended, Susan bowed again, facing the four judges who had long since turned their chairs.

The vice-leader shot a reproachful look at the other three. ’Didn’t we agree that I’d get to pick this lady?’ he thought.

Gelda spread her hands, as if to say they hadn’t signed a contract on it.

The audience’s applause was continuous, reigniting their faith in the show.

The previous performances had nearly put everyone to sleep. Not that anyone could, since it sounded more like noise than music.

The cheers and whistles were loud enough to tear the roof off.

In the monitoring room, Sir Gordo looked at Zog.

Zog nodded. The first episode, at least, was a success.