David Foster stole three of John Foster's compositions and then joined Neonlight Culture. He was noticed by the recruiters at Neonlight Culture and signed a contract. Neonlight Culture was indeed very satisfied with the sheet music David Foster submitted, paid him part of his compensation in advance, and even arranged accommodation for him. Today, David Foster came to move in. He lived on the fifth floor, which was only slightly better than John Foster's second floor, but it was still the lower level of the Black Street communal building, with the same dirty and messy conditions. Knowing he could finally move out of here, David Foster couldn't wait to borrow the company's car and some people to help him move.

　　With his mind preoccupied, David Foster seemed a bit absent-minded. However, after packing up and coming out of the building, David Foster glanced toward the shop, but didn't see John Foster's figure, which made him breathe a sigh of relief. Then he felt he was being too timid—there was no need to be so afraid of John Foster.

　　He had worried before that John Foster would expose his theft, but while packing, he thought it over and realized there was no need to be anxious. Those three songs were uploaded by him first and already registered under his name; the copyright had already been determined to belong to him.

　　Even if John Foster wanted to sue, he wasn't afraid. Back when John Foster was buried in composing, he had already arranged everything. John Foster had no evidence—how could he sue?

　　Besides, John Foster didn't even have the money to sue him now. He could barely afford food, might not even be able to pay next month's rent—how could he possibly sue? Borrow from Brian Clark and Grace Warren?

　　Heh—

　　David Foster sneered inwardly. Those two were paupers too, not worth worrying about. No matter what, as long as he insisted those three songs were his original work, that was enough.

　　Before getting in the car, David Foster looked again at Black Street, his gaze sweeping over the window of John Foster's second-floor apartment. The window was tightly shut, with no light inside, so he couldn't tell if anyone was there.

　　Taking a deep breath, David Foster got into the car. Starting today, he was finally leaving this rundown place called Black Street. Out of poverty! Onward to the peak of life!

　　Who cares about John Foster, who cares about Black Street—he'd never have to face them again! Anyway, he already had his ticket to the rookie season! His future was on the dazzling rookie leaderboard!

Chapter 4: Virtual Idol

　　While David Foster left full of ambition, leaving behind the endless gossip on Black Street, John Foster wasn't dwelling on David Foster's actions.

　　Betrayal and loyalty—perhaps everyone encounters them at some point in life, and in the apocalypse, such things are even more common. Even blood ties can turn into deep-seated hatred.

　　The original owner's grudge definitely had to be avenged, but the urgent task was to compose a new song for Silverwing Media. Otherwise, if he missed the deadline, he would not only lose a great job within reach, but also miss the last chance to enter this season's rookie competition, making life even harder in the future.

　　It was now the end of May. With each season lasting three months, two-thirds of the "New Edge Chart"—the music chart dedicated to rookies—had already passed. Every year at this time, the competition among newcomers was at its fiercest, and all the major entertainment companies were watching closely.

　　Those who stood out would definitely gain both fame and fortune, and their future paths would be much smoother. The company would naturally invest more resources to promote them. But if you failed to achieve good results in the rookie season, people in the industry would preliminarily judge you as having little potential, making future development uncertain.

　　The original owner valued this opportunity greatly, and with only two days left until June, time was running out for John Foster. Wasting time fighting David Foster over the copyright of those three songs would be a losing battle—there was no evidence, and the other party was clearly prepared. Even if he spent two whole seasons, he might not be able to reclaim the copyright, and would lose the opportunity right in front of him.

　　After returning the items to the shop, John Foster took the dog and walked about a hundred meters to a pharmacy. The drug the original owner used to attempt suicide couldn't be bought at a regular pharmacy; such dangerous drugs required a medical certificate. However, Black Street had its own rules—if you wanted to buy something, you could always find a way.

　　The pharmacy was small and quiet at this time of day. A person casually draped in a white coat was sleeping on the counter. When John Foster entered, the scanner at the door chimed.

　　The person reluctantly lifted his head, still half-asleep, and yawned as he looked toward the door. When he saw John Foster, he was clearly stunned.

　　The pharmacy owner was quite surprised. He still remembered that yesterday, this young man had come in looking like "I just don't want to live anymore" to buy medicine. He had tried to persuade him, but the other party didn't listen. He thought another person would silently disappear from Black Street—such things happened all the time. If you couldn't survive, you just killed yourself, like a bug in the corner of Black Street, dying without making a ripple.

　　But now, seeing John Foster again, the pharmacy owner was truly shocked. Even though he considered himself experienced, he hadn't expected to see someone whose mental state was completely different from the day before.

　　Could it be that this person hadn't come to buy medicine for suicide yesterday? The owner wondered.

　　No, that couldn't be. He trusted his professional judgment as a licensed physician—yesterday, this person was ninety-nine percent buying medicine to commit suicide. He just didn't know what had changed his mind.

　　Still, his surprise only lasted a moment before he returned to normal.

　　On Black Street, there were those who sank into despair and died, and those who turned their lives around overnight.