Power Stone Goals from now on: I always post a minimum of 5 chapters. Henceforth the following are the goals:
Every 150 powerstones, I upload an extra chapter.
If we hit top 30 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we hit top 10 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we are top 5...well lets get to that first. Happy readings!
Chapter 29: Baby?
As we were going about our day and shooting for the next episode, a thought crossed my mind that stuck with me more than I expected. I'd always assumed that only the skills given to me by the system would help me earn entertainment points.
That was the logic behind it, right? Use my talents—acting, writing, whatever the system assigned me—and then get rewarded for the audience's emotional engagement.
But then I thought back to YouTube. The vlogs I'd uploaded weren't based on any skill the system had granted me. I didn't have vlogging talent or editing proficiency automatically granted, and yet, they still earned me entertainment points.
So that made me reconsider how I viewed the system. It wasn't necessarily about the skill; it was about the impact.
If I could entertain people in a meaningful way—through any medium—that counted.
Sure, I had Lord of the Mysteries, and I was confident that Teen Wolf would generate a truckload of entertainment points once it aired. But there had to be other avenues I could explore while waiting. And then it hit me.
I had a mental vault filled with decades of future content. Songs that hadn't even been written yet. Chart-toppers, Grammy winners, underground indie hits that would blow up years down the line—I remembered so many of them clearly.
That was a goldmine. I didn't need to keep every future hit for myself, especially not this early in my journey. I had over 30 years of music history locked in my brain. Giving away a few songs now wouldn't affect my future plans. If anything, it would expand my network and reputation even faster.
So I decided to act on it.
Rather than waiting and emailing, I picked up the phone and called Ethan directly. We usually just exchanged emails, mostly because we worked different hours. But since it was mid-afternoon, it made sense to try a direct line.
The phone didn't even ring twice before I heard him. "Hi, this is Ethan. How can I help you?"
"Hey, it's Jace," I said. "I'm one of your talents with the MTV show."
He chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I know who you are. What's up, Jace?"
"Listen, I've been spending a bit of time recently on something outside of acting. I've started dabbling in songwriting."
There was a pause. "Songwriting? That's a bit of a shift from leading a supernatural romance series."
"I know. It's just something I started doing in my downtime. I've been writing lyrics and thinking of melodies. I think I might be decent at it."
He sounded intrigued. "Do you have any particular genre in mind?"
"Pop, mostly. Stuff that has wide appeal, catchy hooks."
"Interesting you bring that up," he said, voice shifting slightly. "I actually do know a young artist we've been watching—technically signed under a sister agency we work with. He's still early in development but shows promise."
I leaned forward instinctively, even though I was just in my trailer. "What kind of music does he lean toward?"
"Pop, definitely. Bit of R&B influence too. His voice fits the genre, and his manager's been looking for original tracks that could help define his sound."
"Perfect," I said. "Could you connect us? I don't want to come off as just a guy trying to force his stuff into someone's project, but I think this might actually help him."
"I can reach out and mention your name," Ethan replied. "Won't promise anything, but if he's open to it, I'll make the intro."
"That's all I ask. Thanks, Ethan."
"No problem. Keep me posted on what you're working on. And hey, don't forget the acting. That's still your main job, alright?"
"Wouldn't dream of forgetting."
As I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but feel a bit of excitement...it didn't really matter the type of artist. Since if they took my advice, had decent vocals, good music and marketing, the song would be a hit.
…
Inside the quiet confines of the recording booth, a boy who looked no older than thirteen or fourteen stood behind the microphone. He had a soft frame, still growing into his limbs, and carried a casual confidence that sat somewhere between boyish charm and developing professionalism.
His light brown hair was shaggy but styled, falling just above his eyes in a way that seemed like it was meant to be that way—even if it probably wasn't. A faint trace of freckles dusted his cheeks, and though his appearance might have been unassuming to someone unfamiliar, there was something striking about the way he moved in the studio. Comfortable. Like he belonged there.
He was mid-warm-up, humming through scales with a clean, fluid voice, occasionally stopping to adjust his phrasing or try different melodic variations.
A notebook lay on the nearby stand, filled with scribbled verses and potential hooks. He was clearly serious about his work, not just a kid playing at being a pop star.
The studio door opened with a soft click, and a man in his mid-thirties stepped inside, holding a tablet and a bottle of water.
He paused by the soundboard and waited for the boy to finish the phrase he was working on. When the boy finally noticed him, he pulled the headphones down to rest around his neck.
"Just a quick word," the man said. "I had a friend reach out to me. He's from another agency we've worked with before. Said he's got a rookie songwriter, and he was wondering if you'd be open to checking out some of his lyrics. The songwriter's been asking around for a young pop artist who might be a good fit."
The boy raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, still holding onto the headphones. "A rookie songwriter? Trying to pitch something to me?"
The man smiled. "I figured you might say that. But hey, don't forget—you're still a rookie too."
The boy looked off to the side, clearly considering that. It wasn't that he didn't respect the grind. He did. He knew what it meant to put in the work.
But there was something about the idea of taking lyrics from someone else, especially someone new, that didn't sit completely right with him.
"I get it," the man added. "But sometimes these things just click. A great song can come from anywhere. Doesn't mean you have to use it. Just take a look. See if anything jumps out."
The boy sighed, adjusting the mic slightly so it was no longer right in front of his face. He wasn't dismissing the idea entirely. Deep down, he knew how the industry worked. He knew that even the biggest names didn't do it all themselves. Collaboration was part of the process. Still, there was pride involved. Pride, and a belief in his own ability to write and perform his own work.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll look at the lyrics. Doesn't mean I'm using them."
"Of course not," the man replied smoothly. "I'll tell him we can set up a quick meeting tomorrow. You two can just talk through it. Don't have to go anywhere if you're not feeling it."
The boy nodded and turned back to his notebook, flipping to a blank page. "Cool. We'll see how it goes."
He went back to humming as the man stepped out, leaving him alone again with his thoughts and melodies. Whether the song would be good or not, whether this songwriter was worth his time—he didn't know. But the opportunity was there, and that was enough to keep the door open.
And besides, you never knew where the next big thing might come from.
…
It didn't take very long for Ethan to respond—just a couple of hours, in fact. He mentioned that the other agency had agreed to the meeting scheduled for tomorrow and had already spoken with my director, who confirmed that I would be free for the day.
That meant I was officially set to meet a young and emerging pop artist, someone who was still at the very beginning of what might eventually become a monumental career.
"By the way, who exactly am I meeting?" I asked Ethan in a more casual tone as we wrapped up the conversation.
"His name's Justin Bieber. You might have heard of him," he said, his tone light and unassuming.
That name hit me harder than I expected.
Justin Bieber.
In the version of the world I had come from, his name was practically a fixture in the music industry, deeply woven into the cultural fabric of pop music over the last decade. His songs weren't merely successful—they defined eras.
And now, somehow, I had the opportunity to meet him before he became that symbol. Before the worldwide tours.
Before the platinum albums and media whirlwind. He was still at the cusp of it all, full of potential and largely unknown to the general public.
I was lucky that I ended up being in a timeline that seemed to be a year younger than when he was supposed to be, something I found with a quick google search.
Of course, I had to remind myself that this was not the pop icon yet. He was still very much a teenager trying to make a name for himself. From what I remembered, he was confident—maybe even bordering on a bit proud—but it wasn't hard to understand why.
The talent was there. The charisma was unmistakable. And even in this earlier phase, he had the foundations of what would eventually make him a global star.
I also knew that someone like him, especially at this stage, might not be too keen on taking lyrics from someone else. He would want to maintain his artistic integrity, which made sense. That's why I knew I had to be smart with my approach. I couldn't rely on charm or conversation to carry the day. The lyrics would have to speak for themselves.
"Thanks, Ethan," I said with a small smile, still trying to process just how significant this opportunity might turn out to be. "I'll be ready."
As soon as the call ended, I sat down with my laptop and began to work. I decided it would be best to prepare three songs—not too many to feel overwhelming, but enough to give a fair sense of what I could offer.
I wasn't overly concerned about the long-term implications of giving away a few good songs.
After all, I had a massive backlog of musical knowledge from the future—decades' worth of proven hits stored in my memory. Sharing a few wouldn't make much of a dent, and it could lay the foundation for valuable collaborations.
I organized each draft carefully, ensuring that the structure aligned with standard songwriting conventions. I divided the lyrics clearly into verses, choruses, and bridges, making it easy to follow.
Where appropriate, I added notes in the margins suggesting melodic cues or vocal dynamics to help convey the tone I envisioned.
By the time I wrapped everything up, it was already quite late. I saved each file and backed them up to a flash drive for good measure.
I wasn't planning to make a hard pitch, but rather to offer something worth consideration—something that, if nothing else, might stick in his mind as a worthwhile encounter.
Tomorrow, I wouldn't just be presenting a few sheets of lyrics. I would be opening the door to a collaboration that could shape the trajectory of a young artist's life.
And although I didn't know exactly how it would go, I was quietly optimistic that the meeting could lead to something meaningful, after all I was presenting his own hit songs to him.
With that in mind, I closed the laptop, took a breath, and reminded myself that this was just one of many opportunities ahead.
Midday the following day, Ethan arrived to pick me up from the set, and we made our way toward a different part of the state. The journey took us about three hours by car, a long but manageable drive that led us to a modest recording studio tucked away in a quieter town. When we stepped inside, the smell of acoustic foam and freshly brewed coffee filled the space, and seated behind a workstation was a young teenage boy, not more than thirteen or fourteen years old.
A man stepped forward to greet us. "You must be the songwriter Ethan mentioned," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Howard, and this here is Justin—the artist."
Justin, already standing, walked over and shook my hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.
"Hi, I'm Jace," I replied, trying to keep my tone natural.
Howard motioned for all of us to sit. "Why don't we cut right to it? Let's see what you've brought."
I opened my laptop and pulled up the first song file, one I had carefully formatted and annotated. As I handed over the laptop for Justin to read, he scanned the lyrics in silence for a few seconds, then slowly started humming the first line under his breath.
"Are we an item?" he sang quietly.
There was a pause, and I could tell he was mentally filling in the backup vocals.
"Yeah," I chimed in softly, guiding the timing.
He nodded, catching the rhythm. "Girl, quit playin'. We're just friends… what are you sayin'?"
His voice naturally adapted to the melody, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. It wasn't perfect yet, but he clearly saw the potential in how the lyrics could be performed.
I leaned in a bit and offered, "If you carry that rhythm into the second verse and lean into the chorus with a lighter falsetto, it might hit harder."
He looked back at me with a hint of interest. "You wrote this?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just something I've been working on."
Howard glanced between us, clearly gauging the chemistry. For a moment, there was a quiet understanding in the room that we might've just found something worth holding onto.
Justin then stood up, glancing back toward the equipment in the room. "I want to see if I can sing this," he said. "But before that—did you have anything in mind for how the music was supposed to go for these lyrics?"
He gestured toward the sound equipment at the back of the room—digital synthesizers, a mixing board, and other tools typically used in music production.
"To be honest," I said, following his gaze, "I don't really know how to use those. I'm not a producer or anything, but I did have a melody in mind. Maybe we could experiment a bit and see if we can get it to sound like how I imagined?"
"I'm okay with that," Justin said, looking toward Howard.
Howard gave a nod and turned to someone just outside the door. A moment later, a music producer entered the room, clearly having been on standby.
The three of us moved toward the studio setup. The producer took his seat, while Justin and I started describing the kind of vibe and tempo we were aiming for.
I hummed out the rhythm I had in mind, and the producer began layering a basic instrumental over it, adjusting as we talked through pacing and transitions.
As they began working through the technical side, Ethan stepped back and shared a quiet smile with Howard.
"Well, I guess this is going well," Ethan said casually.
Howard gave a small laugh in return. "Seems like it. We'll probably be starting negotiations soon."
The mood in the room was focused but optimistic, and although nothing had been finalized yet, there was a shared sense that something promising was taking shape.
…
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator