Chat Group: Starting by Swapping Bodies with Elysia?

Femirins was undoubtedly the perfect AI to manage Project: Avalon.

But she still needed time to grow. While drawing data from the network was the standard method, there was a better way.

"Compared to other signal bands, real-world interaction is more effective for Femirins's self-iteration," Yssring explained.

"So?" [Elysia] tilted her head, prompting further explanation.

"[Excited] Femirins wants to see this!" The impish AI displayed an advertisement: Renowned Singer Eden's upcoming concert at the opera house.

"Ahem… as you know, Eden is a world-famous singer. Her concerts are incredibly popular, always sold out," Yssring coughed, regaining her composure. "In an environment with tens of thousands of people, the interaction would exponentially accelerate Femirins's growth. Not to mention, Eden's singing is a prime example of human artistic expression."

What was the most difficult thing for machines to replicate? Art.

Art stemmed from human perception of beauty, the expression of emotions through tangible mediums. It was a challenge for logic-driven machines.

"No problem~" [Elysia] readily agreed.

A world-renowned singer's concert coinciding with Femirins's need for real-world data? It seemed like fate. Besides, Jiang Qiao had planned to attend anyway. He still hadn't fulfilled Eden's request from the Elysian Realm.

Speaking of which… seeing Eden with this face would be… interesting.

[Elysia] touched her ample chest, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

But plans, as always, were subject to change.

According to Eden's agency, the concert was scheduled for tomorrow.

It was the final performance of her Mu Continent tour. Originally slated to end earlier, it had been delayed due to the recent major Honkai eruption in New Zealand.

Eden was known for her professionalism. Unlike other divas, she never pulled stunts or kept her fans waiting.

"My fans come from far and wide. How can I disappoint them?" That was her motto.

Yet, the concert's official website displayed an ominous message: Performance time: TBD.

Something was clearly wrong.

"[Disappointed] Aw… can't go to the concert?" Femirins drooped, displaying the announcement.

[Elysia], armed with five millennia of Elysia's memories, sensed trouble. "Femirins, check recent events in Mu Continent. Focus on Eden's personal itinerary. Gather all information related to her."

"[Confused] Uh…?"

The golden-haired AI hesitated, glancing at Yssring.

Upon receiving a nod of approval, she sprang into action. Despite her unique nature, Femirins still operated within certain parameters. She required authorization before executing commands.

In mere moments, Femirins's tendrils spread throughout Mu Continent's network. Public and private domains—everything except the physically isolated Fire Moth headquarters database—were breached, their data harvested.

Femirins, thankfully, didn't simply dump raw data. Information related to Eden was vast—she was a global superstar, after all. Even after filtering and cross-referencing, the results were still too much for a human to process quickly.

Then, Femirins paused, a flicker of recognition in her digital eyes.

Images flashed across the screen.

"One system hour before the official announcement, Eden's trajectory showed an anomaly."

A map of Mu Continent's traffic routes appeared, Eden's path highlighted in yellow, abruptly stopping at a specific location.

Then, a series of grainy surveillance photos materialized, culminating in a blurry image.

[Elysia] studied the photo, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

A gear-shaped icon, glowing orange, appeared in her blue eyes.

—Analysis.

—Reconstruction.

The fragmented image coalesced into a clearer picture: Eden's profile, and… a firearm.

The reason for the concert's postponement became chillingly clear.

Eden had been kidnapped.

Or rather—it was an act of revenge.

The entertainment industry was rife with darkness, regardless of location or era. Turning performers—the idols of millions—into personal possessions was a temptation many succumbed to.

And for the artists themselves, refusal often meant career suicide.

Even Eden, a global icon, wasn't immune.

In fact, coming from a musical family, she'd anticipated it.

But Eden, driven by her passion for art, chose defiance over submission. Her family name afforded her the privilege to refuse unwanted advances.

The price, however, was steep.

Those she'd rejected retaliated—sabotaging her career, withholding opportunities.

Her debut wasn't on a grand stage, but… on the streets.

Like a busker, a wandering minstrel, Eden began her journey with street performances.

One person, one instrument, pouring her heart into her music.

But talent, like gold, couldn't stay hidden. Eden shone even amidst the mundane, captivating passersby with her raw brilliance.

After initial struggles, her career soared, outpacing her detractors' attempts to hold her back. She even clashed with her agency several times.

"Don't you understand compromise?" they'd raged.

Had she complied, her success would have been even more meteoric. Even royalty and politicians would have been at her feet.

"It's just a small compromise. Everyone else does it!"

But Eden refused to dim her light.

"Art doesn't need shortcuts," she'd declared, unwavering.

She believed in her talent, her ability to reach the summit without compromising her integrity.

Eden was art.

No one had ever made her bend—and no one ever would.

Her pride was woven into her very being, her soul, her art.

She'd won over everyone she met. Even those who envied her couldn't deny her brilliance—she embodied their unattainable dreams.

And that was precisely why…

They wanted to drag her down.

In a derelict factory, the celebrated superstar Eden was bound to a rickety wooden chair.

Her breathtakingly beautiful face remained calm as she observed her captors.

Among them were aspiring young artists who once idolized her, friends who'd supported her during her struggles but later betrayed her, and those driven by malice and greed.

She even recognized her own manager, her usual adoring smile now twisted into a mask of hatred and envy.

It was a premeditated kidnapping, and their motive wasn't financial. Most of them were wealthy—money was a mere number.

They were united by a single, venomous purpose:

To destroy Eden.

A ludicrous reason. Some of them owed their careers to her.

But Eden was too bright.

So bright that she made them feel inadequate, inferior. Her mere presence filled them with shame.

Previously, this resentment hadn't been enough to drive them to such extremes. But the arrival of the Herrscher of Dominance had emboldened them, fueling their dark desires.

"Why?! Why are you so radiant, while I'm forced to bow to reality?!"

A stunningly beautiful young woman shrieked, her face contorted with jealousy. Eden remembered her—once innocent, full of dreams, aspiring to be like her. Eden had encouraged her, even offered support, leveraging her own resources to help her career flourish.

A path Eden now regretted.

After that, the light had vanished from the young woman's eyes. She'd become like so many others in the industry—hollow, consumed by envy.

A tragic sight.

The others, too, were once close to Eden. Even family. She remembered her aunt's kind smile, her encouragement to follow her dreams. It was thanks to her support that Eden had navigated the murky waters of the entertainment world.

Now, that same aunt spewed venomous words, her face a canvas of hatred and resentment, revealing the ugliness hidden within.

They wanted to shatter Eden's image, to drag her down into the mire, to hear her cries of despair. Only then could their jealousy find peace.

The virtuous—they shouldn't exist.

Her ideals, her spirit, her very being—they would crush it all and present the broken pieces to the world.

See? Your golden girl is just like us—a phony, a fraud!

Her entire career, a sickening deception.

And the public, enraged by the "truth," would tear down everything she'd built.

Eden was too flawless, too resilient.

They—even her former manager—couldn't find a single genuine flaw. They'd resorted to fabricating rumors about her fondness for wine, painting her as a barfly.

But such petty attempts were meaningless against her talent and sincerity. Her fans fiercely defended her, debunking every lie, even turning the tables on her accusers—revealing their own misdeeds.

No one believed the rumors anymore. Not even the recent whispers about the superstar being a lesbian.

Eden closed her eyes.

Despite her mental fortitude, she was still human. She felt fear at the thought of the horrors they planned to inflict upon her.

She felt anger.

But she wouldn't show them her fear. That was what they craved—to see her break, to beg for mercy.

Their jealousy demanded a prolonged spectacle of her downfall, savoring every moment of her humiliation.

But Eden, in her pride, would never give them that satisfaction.

She was the same golden girl who'd faced the end of civilization with song and dance, defiant until the very end.

She would not break.

Yet, as she braced herself for the inevitable pain, a different emotion surfaced—regret.

A feeling that had haunted her since their last parting.

To the world, to her fans, she was perfect. But that was a facade, a mask she wore for their sake.

In private, loneliness consumed her, a void that not even Chopin could fill.

The recent disaster in New Zealand had intensified this ache, making even her beloved art a pale comfort.

They had promised to meet again.

Eden had waited, scanning the crowds at every concert, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pink-haired girl who'd touched her heart.

But she never appeared. Even her attempts to track down the mysterious newscaster from Nagazora City had yielded nothing.

She'd even resorted to online searches, hoping for a chance encounter, only to be scammed repeatedly by various "pink" and "peach" themed accounts.

While the police had recovered most of her losses—even sparking that lesbian rumor—Eden would gladly trade it all for another moment with that girl.

Tomorrow was her last concert in Mu Continent.

She'd held onto the hope, the fantasy, that the girl might appear, surprising her in some magical way.

But now…

Sighing, Eden felt a pang of regret.

Not for her career cut short, but for the missed chance to see that pink-haired girl again.

…If only I could see her one last time.

But that was impossible, wasn't it? This place was too dangerous. If the girl appeared, she too would be subjected to their cruelty.

That thought was more terrifying than her own impending fate. She couldn't bear to see that pure spirit tainted by their ugliness.

She would truly break then.

But…

Suddenly, the air grew still.

An unnatural silence.

Her fear subsided, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

Then, a sweet voice echoed through the desolate factory:

"Honestly, tying such a cute girl to a chair in a creepy place like this… that's just mean."