Michael Jackson’s residence, 'Neverland Ranch,' was legendary in my past life for its massive grounds and various facilities that felt like a full-scale amusement park. It was an estate so vast that it boasted its own private fire station and a functioning train line.
The 'Neverland Ranch' of this life was no different, possessing an incredible scale that made it no exaggeration to say every leisure facility in the world had been gathered here. In fact, it seemed even larger than before; the grounds even hosted a Starbucks cafe and a McDonald's specifically for Michael Jackson’s private use.
It would be great to bring Ai here if I ever get the chance.
Children naturally love amusement parks. Beyond that, 'Neverland Ranch' even featured a cinema and a music studio; if Ai had come here, she definitely would have been jumping for joy.
Regardless, the vast plains of Neverland Ranch showed no sign of ending, even as we traveled by train.
"Michael... just how much money do you have in your bank account...?"
"If we exclude stocks and real estate... about 2.5 billion dollars..."
"What?! No, Boss!!!!"
It wasn't that we weren't making money. With our first single released and having moved a total of 65 million copies across two albums, I currently had about 200 million dollars piled up in my own account.
2.5 billion dollars... that's well over 2 trillion won.
In a world where bands had never existed, he had moved beyond the title of the 'King of Pop' from my previous life to be called the 'God of Pop,' and his earnings seemed to have increased accordingly. Even for someone like me, who stole masterpieces from my past life to make my way and had a balance slightly over 200 million dollars, the man in this life certainly deserved to be called a god.
We continued to ride the Neverland Ranch train for a long while before finally reaching the inner residence where Michael Jackson stayed.
"By the way, is there a reason you've come to find me at this hour?"
Michael Jackson could not understand why the members of Enfants Terribles had come to see him so late at night.
Even though Neverland Ranch was technically open 24 hours a day, ever since the 2005 scandal and legal battle, he had been treated like a lunatic and denounced as literal trash by the entire world. Seeking him out late at night was the last thing that would help these rising stars who were just beginning to establish themselves in the American entertainment industry.
"Because you asked us for a collab, Michael."
Of course, after seeing Enfants Terribles wreck the very broadcasting stations that had tormented him, he had smiled broadly and suggested a collaboration stage through his agent. He had done so while being fully prepared for a rejection.
"Just for that reason...? If that were the case, we could have handled it through my agent..."
"Michael, we usually prefer to meet the people we work with in person first."
It was still incomprehensible to him. He was a fading star who had lost his motivation due to the media's character assassination and chose to live in seclusion, while they were rising stars with the talent to represent the era for decades to come.
"I made that offer fully expecting it to be rejected. For you all, who have just begun to stretch your wings, associating with me will not be beneficial."
In the first place, the offer to Enfants Terribles was an act of gratitude because they had brought a small spark of joy to his tedious life. Even though he was in seclusion, he still held the influence to bring attention to anyone associated with him. However, performing on stage together was a completely different matter.
"But the thing is, we're the kind of guys who will go to the ends of hell if it means we can make good music. So, let's skip the stage for now and just record one song with us."
They asked to make music with him while the stars in their eyes shone brightly. Music...? It had been a long time since he had abandoned his interest in such things. Music had given him everything, but at the same time, it had made it impossible for him to truly be with anyone.
Yet, at the same time, the image of his younger self flickered through his mind. Those days when he was overflowing with vigor and passion, creating his own music without caring one bit about the public's gaze.
"Making music with me will not help your future activities at all."
"A musician is supposed to speak through their music."
The sentence they spoke was a line that pierced through his entire life.
Whether it was facing discrimination as the first Black artist in the mainstream pop industry, being the subject of public gossip due to vitiligo, or being falsely accused of sexual harassment in '94—he had always crushed all controversies with his music, proving himself as a musician.
"A musician is supposed to speak through their music... those are truly fine words."
Whether it was a longing for his youth or the sincerity of these immature rascals toward music, the reason wasn't clear, but a small flame was flickering back to life in the heart of the exhausted God of Pop.
"Making music with me is very difficult. Because the music must always be perfect."
A musician is often a different person when working compared to their everyday self. Michael Jackson decided he would show these juniors, who didn't know their place, exactly what it meant to be a legend among legends.
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