"Party in the U.S.A." is a song by Miley Cyrus, the so-called Disney princess.
In mainland China, it's not that popular — barely 50,000 likes on QQ Music.
But anyone who's ever lived in the U.S., or even just knows the country a bit, understands that whenever there's something worth celebrating — national, personal, sports, entertainment, politics, business — Americans will almost instinctively play Party in the U.S.A.
If you want a comparison… well… its popularity actually surpasses Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas Is You. It's universally acknowledged as America's unofficial second national anthem.
That's why its sales are absurd. In its release year, 2009 — when physical copies were already dying — it sold 5 million. By 2025, it had hit 10 million in the U.S. alone.
This explosive success is why Party in the U.S.A. popped into Isabella's mind. Normal people gravitate toward hit songs when searching for inspiration, and Isabella has always considered herself fairly normal — in both lives.
But that massive success isn't the reason she chose the song now.
She picked it because it's autobiographical — about a girl from Tennessee with dreams of music. Nashville, Tennessee's capital, is known as "Music City," but America's entertainment hub is Los Angeles. So she leaves home for her dream, and eventually finds her place in Hollywood.
The song begins at LAX. The new girl is nervous, but when the driver turns on the radio and Jay-Z's voice fills the air, the music-loving girl finds her calm and starts taking everything in.
Since Isabella isn't from Tennessee, she changed "Nashville" in the lyrics to "London."
But that's not the point.
Because—
"What—"
"What did this song just say???"
New York. Manhattan.
Madonna was lounging in her mansion, eating melon seeds and gossiping.
For the past month, the corporate war between Michael Eisner and Bob Iger over The Voice had been her favorite soap opera. Sure, she'd seen plenty of celebrity feuds before — but billionaires brawling? Rare treat.
So, naturally, when she saw the mighty capitalists clawing at each other, she sat back with a grin and snacks in hand.
The chaos surrounding The Voice's script amazed her — she knew how powerful capital could be, but she hadn't realized it could casually erase a full-blown media storm like wiping dust off glass.
Then Eminem appeared, striking like a viper, and her blood boiled with excitement.
She'd always known the suits could be ruthless — but seeing them time-zone their attacks? That was a new level of precision.
As the Anti-Voice Alliance grew ever more venomous, Madonna almost felt… grateful.
She'd fought with capital too, back in her day — over money, of course.
And she won, which is why she's living comfortably now. She built her own label, owns her masters, and thought talent could still beat capital in music.
But seeing what Isabella was going through, she realized — if capital had gone after her with this kind of venom back then, she probably wouldn't have survived. Literally.
The relentless blows left her breathless just watching.
Each strike was lethal.
She couldn't even imagine fighting back.
So when she heard that Warner and Disney were about to hold a press conference amid all this, her eyes widened in anticipation.
She wanted to see what Bob Iger and Barry Meyer would do next.
And then—
Party in the U.S.A. dropped.
Then—
She froze.
Not because the song was bad.
But because—
"Maddy… did I just hear Jay-Z?"
Her assistant turned, pale as paper.
She understood exactly what Madonna meant.
As the truth clicked, Madonna's face twisted — surprise, then shock, then disbelief.
She stared at the speakers in silence until the song ended. Then she gasped, half laughing, half shrieking:
"Oh my god! Oh my god!! Oh my god!!!"
"Isabella actually wrote 'And the Jay-Z song was on' in The Voice's promo track?"
"Ohhh—she's declaring war on Eminem!"
Then she stopped herself—
"No—wait—"
"This is going to blow up the entire music industry!"
Yes.
The soul of Party in the U.S.A. lies in that line: "And the Jay-Z song was on."
At least for this moment in time, that's true.
The reason is simple — Jay-Z is one of America's biggest rappers.
In the future, Billboard would even call him the greatest rapper of all time.
But right now — in 2009 — while he's a Grammy winner with chart-topping albums year after year, he hasn't yet earned that GOAT status.
He and Eminem are neck and neck — both kings of rap.
So when Isabella wrote a song where, upon arriving in Los Angeles, the first track she hears is Jay-Z's?
That's basically a slap in Eminem's face.
You diss me?
Who the hell are you? I only listen to Jay-Z.
He's bigger than you.
Teehee~
"Ohhhh—I love this girl—I love this girl—I freaking love her—"
At the same time, Mariah Carey was also gossiping.
Like Madonna, she perked up instantly when she heard "And the Jay-Z song was on."
Her eyes bulged, nostrils flared like black holes.
"She's got guts! She's fearless! This girl is pure fire!"
She spun on her assistant:
"Jay-Z's East Coast, right?"
"I'm not misremembering that?"
"And Em's West Coast? He's with Dr. Dre, yeah?"
"So… Isabella lands on the West Coast and hears an East Coast rapper?"
"Wowwww… did she really write this herself? This attack is insane!"
"She's more of a rapper than most rappers!"
"No—wait—she might be the biggest surprise the music world's seen since 2000!!"
Exactly.
If the rap world hasn't crowned a GOAT yet, and everyone still has a shot at the throne, then dropping Jay-Z's name in front of Eminem is like stomping on his crown.
Because Jay-Z's East Coast.
Eminem's West Coast.
Simple as that.
American rap is deeply divided. East Coast stars are East Coast stars; West Coast legends stay on their turf. The last "East vs. West" war ended with Tupac and Biggie dead.
So yeah — you can technically play Jay-Z in LA, but socially? It's almost taboo.
If the West Coast's own king can't even dominate his own turf…
How's he supposed to rule the rap world?
If he can't even control the public's taste…
What kind of GOAT is he?
"Oh shit—she's really only thirteen???"
"Did she seriously write Party in the U.S.A. herself???"
"Damn—how did this end up coming back to me???"
Meanwhile in New York, Jay-Z himself was watching the press conference.
When he realized his name was in Isabella's song, he nearly exploded.
Not because he hated the shoutout —
but because he wanted no part in this corporate war.
He's a smart guy; he could smell the stench of capital all over this.
His plan? Sit back and watch from afar.
But now?
He hadn't done a damn thing—
and somehow still got dragged in.
"Ahhhhhh—unlucky, unlucky, unlucky—"
Jay-Z clutched his head like Jackie Chan in a blooper reel.
He wasn't the only one who noticed.
Sony North America's chairman, Howard Stringer, was floored too.
He thought Party in the U.S.A. might be the most elegant diss track ever written.
Not only did Isabella never openly attack Eminem — every line dripped with mockery.
It even had two stages of diss.
First: "And the Jay-Z song was on."
That alone said, "Eminem's not even the hottest rapper."
Then came "And the Britney song was on."
Which basically implied, "You're about to fade out like Britney Spears."
Because Britney was floundering.
Her singles weren't charting.
Her movie flopped.
Her love life was a PR nightmare.
Everything she touched fell apart.
So if she represented LA pop now?
"My god—this girl's a genius—"
Stringer was impressed.
He didn't think Barry Meyer or Bob Iger had written it for her.
They'd be suicidal to pull a "ghostwrite and hide the credits" move when rival corporations were circling like sharks.
No — Party in the U.S.A. could only have been written by Isabella.
And for her to produce that level of songwriting in 48 hours, in the middle of a corporate war?
Genius was the only word that fit.
But whether or not she was a genius wasn't the pressing issue.
What puzzled Stringer was Meyer and Iger's strategy.
"What are they even trying to do?" he muttered.
"Why make Isabella write a song dissing Eminem?"
"And then release it as The Voice's promo track?"
"Their biggest problem right now is the fraud accusations!"
"Shouldn't they be protecting her image instead of throwing fuel on the fire?"
"So… why attack Eminem now? How does that help?"
He pushed his glasses up, frowning.
He honestly couldn't figure out what game Meyer and Iger were playing.
And right then—
After The Voice's promo track finished playing, Nathan Bailey stepped up and announced the press conference was now open for media questions.
And with a swish—hundreds of hands shot up.
The first question went to The New York Times.
"Mr. Bailey," the reporter began, "can you comment on the hottest topic everyone's talking about right now?"
July 4th, Independence Day.
At the Lollapalooza rehearsal, rapper Eminem dissed Isabella.
Then, over the next 48 hours, the storm surrounding it swept across the entire United States.
A reporter asked:
"Do Warner and Disney have nothing to say about this?"
"You must know that public opinion right now is extremely unfriendly toward Isabella."
The moment that was said, countless viewers in front of their TVs sat up straighter.
Isabella's fans wanted to know how Warner and Disney would respond to the "cash-grab" accusations.
Eminem's fans were hoping the two companies would slip up—because that would give their idol a win.
The Anti-Voice Alliance wanted to see just how far Barry Meyer and Bob Iger could go. They didn't believe those two still had any cards left to play.
McDonald's and Coca-Cola were also watching, since they were sponsors of The Voice. All they wanted at this point was for Disney and Warner to clean up the mess quickly.
And the bystanders…
To be honest, only the bystanders truly cared about the truth in a man-made storm of public opinion.
Because whether they're fans or haters or enemies or allies—none of them actually care about right or wrong. Only about interest and stance.
So…
Facing the reporter's question, Nathan Bailey smiled and said,
"Didn't Isabella already respond to that? On July 5th, in London? At The Order of the Phoenix signing event? The reporter was from The Times, right?"
"Huh—?"
As soon as he said that, the press conference erupted.
Even the audience in front of their screens frowned, confused.
"Wait… is that an admission?"
"That can't be right, can it?"
"Warner and Disney wouldn't be that stupid!"
No matter who they were, everyone thought Warner and Disney shouldn't admit to the "cash-grab" rumors.
Because that kind of thing—you never admit to it.
Frankly, it's the kind of thing that's worse than breaking the law.
The reporter didn't believe Bailey was admitting anything either, so he pressed on:
"Mr. Bailey, just to remind you, The Times reported that Miss Isabella Haywood strongly refused to answer any questions that day."
"Huh?"
Bailey's expression shifted to surprise, as if he'd only just heard this for the first time.
Then, after two seconds, he grinned.
"Okay, I get what you're trying to ask. So… let's speak with facts."
He waved his hand, and the same video player from earlier reappeared on the big screen.
The moiré stripes flickered again, making viewers across North America squirm with visual discomfort—
but what they saw cleared everything up.
At The Order of the Phoenix signing event, The Times reporter had bombarded Isabella with questions.
After he'd finished pointing all his accusations her way, Isabella blinked and said blankly:
"Eminem? Who's that?"
The moment that clip aired, the North American audience exploded.
Even Forrest Gump could have figured out that all the previous "reports" were garbage.
The Times said Isabella refused to answer?
What a joke!
She wasn't dodging—she literally didn't know who Eminem was!
And Isabella didn't know Eminem?
Click-click—
As the tape ended, Nathan Bailey knocked the table with a sharp tap.
The sound snapped the cameras back to him, drawing everyone's focus.
Still smiling, Bailey addressed the millions watching live:
"Sorry, I was just joking around a bit earlier. We've seen all the rumors, and honestly, we find them pretty strange."
"Eminem became famous in 1999. We won't comment on his character or his music. But ever since he blew up, the public has been obsessed with his personal behavior."
"People discuss how he used his own daughter to record a song about killing his wife."
"People can't understand why, after failing to collaborate with Marilyn Manson, he went on to attack him."
"They wonder why he lashed out at his own mother."
"They're baffled that he turned school shootings into lyrical material, boasting about killing students."
"He's only been famous for four years, but he's occupied our attention far longer than that. The man can command headlines with just his mouth. We have to admit—he's talented."
Bailey paused, then flashed a grin full of white teeth at the camera.
"But while acknowledging his talent, we'd also like to say this to Mr. Eminem: Isabella Haywood has never been to America. She's been in her own country—acting, writing songs."
"Mr. Eminem, if Isabella's understanding of the U.S. comes entirely from media and the internet, she hasn't infringed on your interests, has she? She hasn't abused you like your mother, has she? She hasn't cheated on you like your ex-wife, has she? She hasn't called your work trash like Marilyn Manson did, has she? She hasn't tried to seduce you like Mariah Carey, has she?"
"So, since she doesn't even know you, we'd appreciate it if you didn't direct so much hostility her way."
"Of course, if you insist on slandering Isabella just to gain attention…"
"…then we'll defend ourselves—through legal channels."
Boom.
Bailey's tone was light, almost casual.
But Michael Eisner, watching the broadcast, felt a weight drop on his chest.
"Oh! Shit!!!"
He snatched up his phone and dialed Edgar Bronfman Jr.
"Quick, quick, quick! Get your people to find Eminem! Don't let him talk! He must not say a word! Not a single word!"
Eisner finally understood what Barry Meyer and Bob Iger were doing.
By framing Eminem's entire success as the product of his big, toxic mouth, and portraying his attack on Isabella as a washed-up rapper trying to stay relevant—they'd guaranteed he'd lose his temper.
And once Eminem got angry…
All the Anti-Voice Alliance's attacks would collapse.
Because Eisner knew one thing:
Nobody listens to a mad dog.
Unless they're mad dogs too.
If every critic sounded like a raving lunatic, then Isabella would sail right through the storm untouched.
Once the public snapped out of it, they'd see that the real "cash-grabbing" in the music industry had always been done by the corporations.
And when the true profiteers were revealed, the opposition wouldn't even have a third move left to play.
After all, there were five major record companies.
Even if they could control Universal, they couldn't silence the other four at the same time.
Not to mention, Edgar Bronfman Jr. didn't even fully control Universal yet.
So—
Shut Eminem up.
Don't let him go off-script.
That was all Eisner wanted now.
Unfortunately…
It was already too late.
Because the moment Party in the U.S.A. dropped, Eminem's rage meter had already hit maximum.
And when Bailey implied that his dissing Isabella was just a desperate cry for attention—it overflowed completely.
Even worse—
"Hi, Em! Someone said your fame comes from dissing people. Care to comment?"
"Em! Warner's spokesperson says you attacked Isabella because she's more popular—any thoughts?"
"Em! Have you heard The Voice's new promo track, Party in the U.S.A.? What do you think of Isabella's new song?"
"Em! Do you think Jay-Z is better than you?"
"Em! Do you think Isabella's dissing you?"
"Em! Do you believe she really wrote that song in 48 hours?"
"Em! How would you rate Isabella's talent?"
"Em—Em—Em—"
Even before the press conference ended, Eminem had already been surrounded.
Or rather—Bob Iger and Barry Meyer had made sure he'd be surrounded first, then held the press conference.
They weren't the only ones who knew how to block someone's exits.
Eisner and Murdoch weren't the only men with sharp claws.
So as soon as the conference ended, a horde of paparazzi swarmed Eminem's office building.
With reporters shouting from every angle—
"M—F**k—"
Despite being held back, Eminem yanked open the curtains.
From the upper floor, he glared down like a furious king and roared:
"You damn media! You're the ones who chase clout by dissing people—"
"I diss people because they deserve to be dissed—"
"They're garbage! Parasites! Wolves in sheep's clothing—"
"That's all there is to it—"
Click click click—
The flashbulbs went wild.
Across the street, a cameraman on a rooftop gave him a thumbs-up.
That mocking gesture made Eminem explode again.
He grabbed a chair and hurled it out the window.
Crash—
Inside, his manager Paul Rosenberg squeezed his eyes shut in despair.
He knew then—Eminem was finished.
Meanwhile, at Universal Music's Santa Monica headquarters—
CEO Doug Morris, having just hung up with Edgar Bronfman Jr., was about to call Eminem and tell him to calm down when a group of uninvited guests arrived.
Despite his secretary's frantic protests, several officers in Forbeller uniforms burst into his office.
Without ceremony, they showed their IDs and said,
"Mr. Doug Morris, we've received a report from Warner Group. They claim that during your tenure as chairman of Warner Music, you misappropriated company funds for personal use."
"Warner has already submitted evidence to us, so…"
"…please come with us."
The officer smiled politely.
Doug Morris froze in disbelief.
"What??? Who reported me???"
"Warner."
The word Warner made his eyes bulge.
His throat worked before he roared—
"Barry Meyer???"
"You're digging up that again???"
"M—F**k—"
"You bastard!!!"