Ty slammed the toilet seat shut and proceeded to sit on it. He found he really needed that gesture. This system was turning out to be more interesting than he thought.
The space about [Skills] was really intriguing. What music star would be proud of having skills such as [beef instigation], [provocative dancing], and...wait a minute, [hoe resistance]?
It was obvious the system was using terms that were familiar to him and his line of passion, for easy explanation, but this was both extreme and ridiculous.
Beef instigation on its own was an essential tool in fostering competition among singers and rappers alike, and it will continue to be so, else the music industry might just turn out to be a boring spectacle.
So many of great, legendary songs were inspired by the artistes' hatred for a particular colleague or a discontent about how he was treated by that colleague. Some were created as a response to a beef track aimed at that artiste.
The most legendary according to Tyrone was still the Tupac-Biggie beef. What was born from that rivalry was still in effect today, if not glaringly, then partially.
'You just have to sit back when it comes to East Coast vs West Coast.
What about Eminem's "Killshot" track against Machine Gun Kelly? Jay Z vs Nas? The list goes on and on. There was even the funny one with J. Bieber against Ludacris.
So yes, Ty loved beef instigation because it keeps the industry and everyone else entertained.
But someone possessing the natural, uncanny ability to start a beef unprovoked was not what Ty was proud of.
'I mean, why should I be able to instigate beef without even trying? Is this system trying to get me killed instead of making me famous?'
His silent question carried more weight when he took a look again and saw the [provocative dancing/gestures] skill.
"Yo, are you trying to kill me? That is not an admirable skill, man!"
But there was no response.
The ridiculous part of his skills was [hoe resistance]. It was a really ridiculous one.
By "hoe", Ty knew what the system meant. But he felt he does not need such gift from the system to be able to resist women and their influence. He had never, ever seen women as a tool that he could easily use to please his wild hormones. Neither does he have the urge to hop into the street to lavish money on body servicers.
"Take these ridiculous skills away if I'm ever gonna accept this insanity going on."
[Host cannot reject the system. If Host is uncomfortable with the development, he can choose to self-destruct.]
Ty ignored the banter and moved on to check out his stats.
He got the information that all the stats could only max up to 20. That figure was too high considering his current level of stats. His highest stat was 8, and that belonged to his [Delivery].
Ty found himself agreeing. If there was anything he was really good at, it was his delivery. He could be spitting medium rap lines, but he knew just how to make them sound just as convincing like it had the best lyrics.
His [vocals] alongside [flow/rhythm] and [creativity] were on the level 5 mark. He was a little bothered by how low it was, especially the [Flow/Rhythm] part. But he's suddenly lost the energy to ask further unnecessary questions. The system wasn't helping with the way it answered.
He was a little proud of his [Lyricism] which was level 6. But [Aura/Stage presence] was such an eyesore. The system only granted him level 4 for it.
[You have no commanding presence, Ty. It's a natural thing, so you don't have to feel bad about it or anything. However, an artist needs to be loved just from his presence alone.]
[Luckily, you could upgrade the stat through training or with the use of EXP., and the same goes for every other stat.]
[But will you continue to pretend you haven't been assigned a task?]
"Oh, the task."
[Win a rap/musical face-off]
"And how do I do that?"
[...]
[If only I could materialize, just to give you the nastiest raised eyebrow you've ever seen.]
Ping!
Ty's phone received a notification.
{Congratulations, Tyrone Johnson. You have been selected to take part in the "Nipsey Hussle Legacy (NHL)" rap battle. Join other contestants at Littlefield, Brooklyn by 4pm tomorrow. You don't have to come with anything. Just your stage name and fire lyrics.}
Tyrone gasped. His mouth flew open in surprise.
He could remember that he signed for this particular rap contest at Brooklyn a few days after he clocked 18, but he wasn't accepted then. There was no feedback, no rejection letter. Just the quiet.
Seeing the positive feedback he so much sought back then was like a dream come through. A real face-off like this was what kids wanted to put their names out there.
"How is this possible?"
[Consider it another of the system's gift to you, but if I were you, I wouldn't. You could regret this face-off, you know?]
'Of course, I know. Kids these days have no mercy for their elders... Wait, I'm actually eighteen...even though I was 30 yesterday. I'm those kids who have no mercy for the elderly.'
One thing about these rap contests was the lack of information about who one will be facing for each round. This always disgruntled Ty, because a proper rap battle has no restriction to personal matters. One should have the chance to run a background check on the opponent, so things could get really messy up there.
'I can't just go there dissing you when I don't even know your first name, or if yo mama ever tried pole dancing or has an Onlyfans or something.'
The competition as Ty suspected was made so the contestants could craft their best work without being influenced by a specific character. It helps with the artistes' creativity as well.
There is also the case of increased tension because one cannot tell how tough the opponent was going to be.
'I need to come up with something before tomorrow then. There's no cashier job today. Wait, if I'm eighteen, I don't even have that job, ha!'
He hurriedly cleaned himself up, stealing quick glances at himself in the mirror. 'Shit, this is really crazy.'
He found clean clothes and donned them on. This dress style was a little out of date in his eyes, but he had to remind himself for the umpteenth time that he wasn't a thirty year old man anymore.
He grabbed his headphone, a neat notepad and a pen, and some cash from his drawer. He knew just where to go for some inspiration.
He closed the door of the house... The house his favorite uncle, Uncle Rondon who also doubled as Ty's most favorite human, had left in his care before traveling to Nigeria for, only God knows what. Ty calls him Uncle Random, because he really does spew some random stuff from time to time.
The most memorable random thing he said was about bees and how the government was using them to spy on citizens. He had killed a disturbing wasp that afternoon, and he swore he had extracted a microchip from its abdomen. But immediately he held it, the chip dissolved with a soft pop and evaporated into the air.
"From the flames, I could see the memories of that damn bee. I saw myself naked at Naomi's crib. Those damn bees! They done pollinating flowers, now they trying to pollinate humans?! Damn spy bastards! F--k the government. I'm leaving for Africa soon, where the natural big bunds are and where I'll never get spied on by bees."
Ty always have to fake interest or he'll get called on also.
"Don't look at me like I'm crazy, boy. You is crazy for now believing me," Unc Rondon would say.
Ty does get occasional calls from him, but in his last life, shortly after he turned twenty, the calls stopped. Ty would love to assume Unc Rondon was enjoying the "natural big bunds" and his "free from spying bees country".
He connected the Bluetooth headphones and set his "Melodic Rap" playlist to shuffle. He was not in any mood for hard bars this morning. Not yet.
The first song to hit his ears was "Hurricane" by Kanye West, featuring The Weeknd & Lil Baby.
The Weeknd's soulful voice filtered through the speakers and filled him with respite, a cool way to start a cool morning.
"...See this in 3D, all lights out for me
All lights out for me, lightning strikes the beach
80 degrees, warm it up for me
Finally free, found the God in me
And I want you to see, I can walk on water
Thousand miles from shore, I can float on the water
Father, hold me close, don't let me drown
I know you won't..."
While Ty hummed along, he became pretty convinced that his situation wasn't a time travel issue. Because if it was, this song wouldn't exist on his phone. Since it was released in 2021, and he'd been sent back 12 years to his former life.
'It's really strange, but it's not time travel.'
The date on his phone displayed the normal, current one. But he couldn't trust that yet. He needed to ask someone later.
Two boys his age approached his direction, and he recognized one of them, Huey. Huey was the street's most popular rapper. Every local studio around was always ready to invite him in, in the hopes that someday when he's made the big stage, he'd remember them. Everyone had high hopes for him, for he was truly phenomenal, Ty had to admit.
But in Ty's past life, Huey caught himself in the middle of a gang shooting in Brooklyn and was killed after a studio session with a bigger artist who has invited him. The street had mourned Huey like he was their bread winner.
Ty gave him a long look of pity while he approached. He still wasn't sure if this was really time travel, because the same situation might occur again if it was. But what was he to do? Stop Huey from going to Brooklyn?
"Hey, Ty. Old man Breezy wants you at the studio. That's where you're headed?"
"Sure. What's the situation?" Ty responded, offering a handshake which Huey calmly took.
"Nothing new. Old man just excited again about some new beat he made in his dreams but couldn't remember after he woke."
"Same old, same old?"
"Same old, same old." They both laughed. The other boy beside Huey didn't join in. He looked like someone Ty ought to know, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't conjure up that face in his memory.
"Hey, Ty. About what you asked earlier. I've given it some thought and I think I'll accept. We're one in here after all. Tell me when and we'll crash a studio after. Any studio asides old man Breezy's. That one could crash for real."
Ty smiled and nodded in approval. He understood that Huey was accepting a freestyle session between the two of them, something Ty had proposed back then and got a cold shoulder for response. "I appreciate."
"You seem happy though. You were smug yesterday."
"Yeah...uhm, I got an entry for the NHL rap battle at Brooklyn. Can't keep the joy in, I guess."
Ty never had to tell Huey, but there was nothing wrong with telling him as well. Since the contest will be broadcasted and they'd all see him after all.
Huey's face lit up and he moved closer to dap Ty up for real. "You got in?!"
"Shocking, right?"
"Yo, my man. I feel good for you, man."
"Thanks. Thanks."
"Now don't get cooked. These boys be cruel for real, plus I heard the organizers sometimes leak contestant's info to other contestants for some bills. They could get to you in ways you can't imagine."
"Really? That's crazy. I'd try to play it all cool. But thanks again, man."
Huey also signed for that same contest, but he obviously didn't get a positive response from the organizers. A silly thought came that, maybe Huey was only bitter about Ty's entry, that was why he was trying to scare him with the warning. But he knew Huey wasn't that type of a person. He also looked genuinely happy about the news.
When Ty got to Breezy's Studio, the old man wasn't in. But he went in all the same. The small, stuffed studio was like a second home to him, so he made himself comfortable.
He'd lost track of how many songs had played after Ye's "Hurricane" but what he was listening to right now on his Melodic Rap playlist was "First Class" by Jack Harlow. He stopped the music, removed the headphone and brought out his notepad.
Then, he started writing...
"... I'm Brooklyn's finest emcee, you're Mommy's ugliest art piece
When I saw you and that random broad, I saw two bad bitches
Came with the Uzi's and the AK's but they all came with three switches
Rubbed this lamp so hard, the genie offered a million wishes
First I wished you weren't ugly, then I wished you got new Nike's
Cos those shoes be looking so rogue, store bought with a thousand stitches
I wished you were full of wins and filled with wealth and riches
But wait for the part where I make you mad like a dog with rabies..."
Ty dropped the pen and sat back. This few lines alone had taken him 20 minutes, and it wasn't looking like it'll strike a major blow against a formidable opponent. Discrediting himself, he felt the lyrics was forced and a little childish.
He wanted to create something more mature, and more aggressive but at the same time, calculated and fatal.
Ding!
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
[You have written your first 8-line bar after acquiring the system.]
Reward: +50 EXP
Total EXP: 50
[Analysing 8-line bar...]
Creativity: Impressive (+10 EXP)
Lyricism: Good (+5 EXP)
Storytelling: Basic (+2 EXP)
Total EXP: 67
Record the 8-line bar to get analysis result on: Vocals, Delivery, Flow/Rhythm.
Perform it on stage to get analysis result on: Aura/Stage presence.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Ty found himself grinning without control. Should he keep up training himself with simple practices like this, he'd be able to upgrade his overall stats in no time, and maybe even acquire new skills that'd make him stand out.
Checking the experience points (EXP) now, he needed to add them to one of the stats he wanted to get upgraded...and that was his [Creativity] stat.