The social news section of an East Asian newspaper headlined, "Multiple People Involved in a Street Fight in Shinjuku. Police Investigate Cause of Incident. Seven Injured." The article did not clarify exactly why the fight broke out.
At first, no one really paid attention to the news because the country was full of messy troubles and people with problems—like the criminal who killed his entire family of four.
But then the entertainment tabloid Weekly Bunshun dug up details of the incident, reporting that more than twenty people had been involved in the fight, which was triggered by a dispute over albums.
The bookstore had a limit of five copies per person for the album sale, but a fan named Ojima Matsushika hired people to buy forty copies.
Using precise university-level math, it was concluded that besides Ojima Matsushika himself, seven people were hired.
If you want to buy so many copies, fine—just keep it secret. But Ojima Matsushika chose to show off right in front of the bookstore, mocking others with full arrogance.
This sparked a riot among fans who had waited in line for an hour and a half only to be told Song of Spring Rain was sold out. First came shouting, then pushing, and finally a full-on fight—three steps complete.
Though more than twenty people fought, most of the dozens gathered outside the bookstore only added fuel to the fire with their loud reactions.
A reporter interviewed a battered Ojima Matsushika. "Ojima-san, what do you think about the chaos you caused?"
"Baka yarou! I'm not afraid at all. Three of them attacked me at once. Did I get scared? Did I run? No way. I don't run, and I'm not scared. When they hit me, I just lie down and protect my face. They can't hit my face."
Ojima Matsushika spoke loudly and passionately.
"The fact that several people attacked me proves they are cowards who won't face me one-on-one. I may have been beaten, but I am a warrior."
The reporter looked at Ojima's injuries and wanted to say so much. Yet Ojima's triumphant expression silenced her completely. The reporter took a deep breath and asked again, "Ojima-san, we want to know why you bought forty copies of the album. If you hadn't done that, the fight wouldn't have happened."
"Is there a law forbidding me from hiring people to buy albums?" Ojima Matsushika shot back.
"No, there is not," the reporter shook her head.
Ojima Matsushika grew even more energetic. "How I buy albums is my personal freedom. I want to collect dozens of Chu Zhi's albums. I bought a hundred copies of Just A Little Hope for the World. Chu Zhi's voice is like an angel's. Buying this many albums is me paying God."
The reporter wondered if Ojima had been hit too hard on the head, because his words sounded confused and rambling.
It was clear that Ojima Matsushika was a wealthy second-generation heir. This was nothing new—when he chased girl groups before, he had bought thousands of albums, though that was for chart rankings.
The reporter, unable to take any more, ended the interview: "One last question, Ojima-san. Why do you think the man called Chu Zhi has earned such great support from you?"
"He really is the kind… the rare kind. He has eyes, a nose, and even teeth," Ojima Matsushika said.
A nice compliment, but the reporter suspected the interviewee was mocking her.
The chaotic interview gained no real traction, so the reporter rewrote it slightly to emphasize Ojima's shouting tone.
The result was a viral discussion online among Ragdoll fans in Japan.
"If one person can buy forty copies, then why limit five per person?"
"Limits are a marketing strategy by sellers. Ojima's words aren't wrong—how many albums one buys is their right. The real fault lies with the sellers. If there were enough albums, this would never have happened."
"The seller's right to limit purchases is legally protected. She's selfish. Everything she says is a snow woman's lie. The only true thing is that 'Ragdoll's voice is like an angel.'"
"So selfish. Definitely not a real Ragdoll fan."
"he makes me sick. I think he's a Ragdoll hater."
…
If this incident had involved a Japanese idol, an immediate public apology would have followed. If it had involved a foreign star other than Chu Zhi, there would be widespread criticism about "poor guidance."
But because the so-called "god" created by the Japanese Ministry of Science and Education was Chu Zhi, his reputation was so strong that criticism was minimal.
A Japanese sociologist analyzed on a news channel, "Chu Zhi-san is a symbol of a new era. His previous actions, such as causing a lipstick brand to sell out, show he has become a symbol for youth."
Meanwhile, Ojima Matsushika was released because although he was suspected of provoking the fight, surveillance footage showed he was beaten from beginning to end and barely fought back.
Luxury cars waited on the street. The Ojima family owned businesses and was indeed wealthy.
"Matsushika, are you okay?" Mrs. Ojima asked with concern.
"They're all cowards. They need several people to attack me," Ojima Matsushika began to complain again.
Mrs. Ojima was used to it but still tenderly cleaned his wounds while Ojima Matsushika happily shared the many albums he bought today.
When they returned home, mother and son were happy until they saw someone standing in the living room. Their faces immediately turned pale.
"Jirou…"
"Shut up!"
Mrs. Ojima tried to speak but was cut off by Ojima Jirou.
Ojima Jirou called his son Matsushika forward, then threw a tablet on the table. The screen played Matsushika's ending interview.
"Look at yourself right now," Ojima Jirou said loudly, his voice sharp as a knife.
Ojima Matsushika tried to pull out his usual excuses. "Father…"
"Don't disgrace the Ojima family outside if nothing's wrong. If you're mentally disabled, you should stay home. What are you doing going out?" Ojima Jirou yelled, growing angrier and his expression more terrifying.
"Do you even know you're mentally disabled?" Ojima Jirou asked.
"Father…"
"Answer me! Did your mother and tutor ever tell you that you're mentally disabled?" Ojima Jirou refused to hear excuses.
"Sorry, Father, I was wrong," Ojima Matsushika bowed and apologized.
Ojima Jirou was relentless, his voice even louder. "Answer me! Did your mother and tutor ever tell you that you're mentally disabled?"
Mrs. Ojima dared not speak and stood silently aside.
Ojima Matsushika trembled. His mother's prenatal infection had caused irreversible brain damage, leaving him mildly intellectually disabled.
Yes, Ojima Matsushika really did have brain problems.
Intellectual disabilities are different from what most people imagine as stupidity. Mild cases like Ojima's can still communicate.
Ojima's main problems were poor memory and weaker language skills, but otherwise, he was basically normal.
"They told me…" Ojima Matsushika said quietly.
"Then why did you disgrace us by going out?" Ojima Jirou asked.
Ojima Jirou became angrier and ordered his son to kneel, loudly commanding, "Say it out loud: I am mentally disabled. I should not disgrace the family by going out."
Mrs. Ojima wanted to comfort her son, but Ojima Jirou told her to change clothes quickly. There was a banquet to attend.
Ojima Jirou had never cared for this mentally disabled son. Mrs. Ojima dared not breathe out of turn.
The father's oppressive authority had been deeply ingrained in Ojima Matsushika's mind since childhood. So he dared not slack on punishment, even at twenty years old.
By 11:30 p.m., Ojima Matsushika rose after kneeling for four hours. Most people could never kneel that long, but Ojima Matsushika had grown used to it. It had become natural.
His room was plastered with posters of stars, mostly girl groups and Chu Zhi.
Two walls of bookshelves held no manga by other Japanese artists—only albums.
There was a knock at the door.
Mrs. Ojima opened it with concern. "Does your leg still hurt?"
"It hurts, but not as badly as last time," Ojima Matsushika replied. "Father is right to be angry. I didn't save face this time. I tried to hide but still got hurt."
Hearing her son's words, Mrs. Ojima's heart ached. She had always told him, "Father only cares about his face, not that he doesn't like you." But she knew too well how much her husband despised their son.
Mrs. Ojima held her son tightly and whispered over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
If not for her, her son would not have been born with intellectual disabilities.
Mrs. Ojima, lost in her sorrow, suddenly heard a voice singing beside her.
🎵 No matter what is about to happen,I will use all I have to protect you.Never once have I regretted it,And even now I can say for sure,We have always given our all,Fighting to the very end... 🎵
The voice was off-key and not pleasant to hear.
But the lyrics were unmistakably clear—it was her child singing.
"Ojima," Mrs. Ojima gathered herself and asked, "What song is that?"
"It's Chu Zhi-san's new song, My.all. Mother, doesn't it sound nice?" Ojima Matsushika said. "All the songs from Song of Spring Rain are so good, really good. But I can only sing these few lines."
"When you learn the whole song, sing it for me," Mrs. Ojima said, her mood lifted by the optimism in her son's words.
"I can learn it in a week," Ojima Matsushika said confidently.
They talked a little more before leaving Ojima Matsushika's room. Before leaving, Mrs. Ojima said, "Matsushika, go to sleep early. Don't blame your father. He had some trouble at the company today."
After his mother left, Ojima Matsushika turned off the lights, leaving only a dim night lamp on. As mentioned before, mild intellectual disability does not mean someone is stupid; many can work in various jobs. So...
Ojima Matsushika picked up his phone. It was playing footage of Chu Zhi participating in a singing event in Hokkaido, followed by an interview with reporters.
The segment was long, but Ojima Matsushika mainly wanted to hear this sentence, where Chu Zhi said:
"Singing this song is meant to praise warriors. True warriors are those who, after seeing the harsh truths of life, still find the courage to keep living. We are all warriors!"
Chu Zhi was hailed by Japanese society as the "circuit breaker that stops people from committing suicide." This was not marketing hype.
Playing the album Song of Spring Rain, Ojima Matsushika looped My.all on repeat. The lyrics felt like an angel soothing a wounded soul.
🎵 Yet we are never truly alone. I want you to see where dreams lie, No end, no fading away, I really want to see that kind of dream...🎵
The gospel of an angel truly could save people, more real than pure gold.
Russia was relatively calm. This was partly due to the weak physical album market there. The 200,000 physical copies distributed sold out in thirty hours.
Together with online sales, that was about 250,000 copies—do not underestimate this as Russia's best physical album data this year.
Chu Zhi's name was popular in Russia, and Star was deeply loved by Russians, becoming the fourth viral song by the Emperor Beast on the Russian internet.
The first three were Opera 2, Lullaby, and Katyusha. Many Russian singers envied him, saying he released hit after hit.
"If the album were in Russian, sales would be even better. Commander Zhi really mastered the essence of Russian culture," Aurora sighed. She hadn't even mastered Chinese, let alone its essence.
Because of the explosive numbers, on the album's release day, Niu Jiangxue's team didn't receive accurate reports until two days later.
"Vietnam… such a small place," Niu Jiangxue muttered, "Yet the first-day sales were 320,000 copies, surpassing Russia."
Economically, Russia was better, with a population of 140 million compared to Vietnam's 90 million.
Chu Zhi himself was baffled, wondering how his popularity could be so high in Vietnam. Vietnamese albums usually sold around 200,000 on the first day.
Chu Zhi's arrival was like a dimensional drop, raising records by 50 percent and crushing any hopes Vietnamese singers had to surpass him.
"Are plastic surgery fans that powerful?" Chu Zhi wondered.
"Asia-wide first-day sales hit 2.31 million copies. Mama mia, according to the International Recording Industry Association's China standards, 30,000 copies sold is platinum, and Jiu-yé just hit seventy times platinum on the first day. Explosive, smashing, unstoppable!" Lao Qian said.
Asia's album standards were not as high as America's. According to the RIAA, 500,000 copies is gold, one million is platinum, and diamond requires ten million.
Still, by RIAA standards, Chu Zhi's new album was double platinum—a true powerhouse.
To be a global superstar and king of pop, one needs a few diamond records, like Michael Jackson's seven diamond certifications and albums with over 100 million sales worldwide.
Parallel worlds and Earth might differ, but the system was similar.
"Although Chu Zhi's domestic popularity is unmatched, we still need to release the data," Niu Jiangxue decided to promote immediately.
Wang Yuan, Lao Qian, Qi Qiu, and Fei Ge had no objections.
The studio's promotional power was strong. That very night, the hashtag #FirstDay77PlatinumRecord# swept across the internet with huge headlines.
Remember Li Xingwei, the washed-up top star?
He had once tried to sabotage Chu Zhi's first album, which went five times platinum on day one. Fans spread propaganda everywhere, and that scene was livelier than a festival.
Now Chu Zhi's new record was at a whole new level—
Seventy-seven platinum—on the first day.
This wave shocked not only fan circles but even knowledgeable bystanders.
"I remember that Chu Zhi's album had a free digital version in China, so these sales don't include domestic numbers, right?!"
"A dream of the Eastern Hollywood, the era when Hong Kong dominated the Asian music scene in the eighties and nineties."
"Don't joke. If you don't know the details, don't guess. Back then, a million total sales was huge. Chu Zhi's first day numbers are the twenty-first century's proof that a real Asian king of pop has emerged."
"No doubt about it. Calling Chu Zhi the Asian King of Pop at age twenty-four is no exaggeration."
…
Given the current size of the Little Fruits fandom, even if only a tenth had the means to collect albums, that still formed a massive group.
As a result, the record market, which had calmed down for a moment, began to spiral into chaos again.
"Why is it still out of stock?"
"Didn't Amazon say they would release 70,000 copies at 7 PM tonight?"
"Gone in less than a minute? The website must be bugged. Damn site. Always so aggressive with ads, but when it counts, it fails."
Fans from Japan were surprised to see a similar scene unfold on South Korean shopping platforms.
No surprise there. Compared to the Little Fruits in China, who had already been through the 618, Double Eleven, and Double Twelve sales battles, the Japanese and Korean fans moved at a snail's pace.
Even Ojima Matsushika, who had planned to buy fifty albums online, stared dumbfounded at the "Sold Out" notice.
The strange situation caused the album sales to follow a bizarre curve.
Day one: 2.31 million copies.
Day two: 640,000 copies.
Day three: 250,000 copies.
Day four: 190,000 copies.
Day five, which is today, surprisingly rose against the trend to 670,000 copies sold (500,000 of those were online orders).
Total sales had surpassed three million. The sales ceiling for Asian albums in this parallel world was held by the first-generation South Korean boy band, with 11.51 million copies sold.
Of course, that record was not only Asian. The group also sold well in Europe and America. Plus, that era was when physical albums thrived, bringing together the perfect timing, environment, and resources.
Trying to break nearly twenty million sales relying only on the Asian market, especially in the internet age, was simply impossible.
Chu Zhi stared at the sales report, wondering if they could break five million.
If he had not released the album for free listening to the Little Fruits at the start and had distributed physical copies domestically, hitting a few million was guaranteed.
But now it was difficult. Of course, Chu Zhi did not regret his decision and would do it the same way again.
Songs have no borders, but singers do. Free streaming was a special privilege for the Little Fruits.
Speaking of the Little Fruits—
"Sister Niu, who is responsible for the event on the app? The one that grants fans' wishes?" Chu Zhi asked.
"Sister Wang is in charge," Niu Jiangxue replied.
Having been influenced by Lao Qian, Chu Zhi also started calling people by nicknames.
Chu Zhi nodded and asked Wang Yuan about the specific wishes of the lucky Little Fruits winners.
[A fan hoped, "I wish Jiu-yé could come to our wedding. I know this wish is a bit much, but my fiancée is a hardcore Little Fruit and even has a Star Cluster ID. One morning she woke up very happy. I asked what made her so happy. She said, 'I dreamed that Jiu-yé was at our wedding.' If only I could win this lottery, I beg you."]
After reading the message, Chu Zhi fell into thought. Wang Yuan also felt the wish was a bit excessive but fully understood it from a fan's perspective.
Going to a wedding was an easy task for Chu Zhi. He only needed to adjust his schedule and free up one or two hours.
What Chu Zhi pondered was what kind of gift to give to the couple. He wanted to give a special blessing.
Time flew by, and another day passed.
If only the Chinese Little Fruits were involved, things would not be so complicated. But many fans were collectors; they wanted to complete all four physical versions.
The Russian version was easy to buy, the international version also. The hard ones were the Japanese and Korean versions.
As expected, Japanese fans wanted the Korean version, and South Korean fans wanted the Japanese version.
A clash broke out between the South Korean and Japanese fans.
Or perhaps, it was a battle for favor?