Qiluo sat motionless on the wooden mechanism chair, holding the cup in her hand as if she were a puppet, completely unresponsive. Ariel couldn't stop shrugging her shoulders, laughing unabashedly.
"Please! Don't look so surprised, as if I said something weird. Do you really think you're fit to be a singer?"
Ariel pointed her fingertips at the face of the girl opposite her, her nails long and sharp, painted bright purple.
"The songs are written with AI assistance; the tone is an artificial effect achieved through technological pre-processing; popularity is built by spending money for fame; as for appearance, it seems the researchers were unwilling to spend more, so they just let you simply apply makeup and go bare-faced, calling it 'fresh style'... My God! It's the 21st century and we still see such outdated tricks, don't you feel embarrassed earning fame this way?"
"Not at all." Qiluo said.
