Chapter 55 – Using Mariah's Song to Earn Mariah's Favor
Time slipped by in the monotony of layered soundtracks.
Inside the dim, acoustically treated recording studio, William wore a pair of heavy monitoring headphones, his fingertips resting lightly on the mixing console as he focused on every subtle vibration in the sound waves.
What flowed through his ears was the film's score being performed in real time.
Because of the era, this version naturally differed in tone from the one he remembered from his past life. Yet the emotional core—melancholy laced with fragile hope, restrained yet profound—had been faithfully recreated.
In 1989, digital synthesis was still in its infancy. If you wanted sonic perfection, there was only one path:
Record everything live.
William had spared no expense.
From hiring a top-tier orchestra to renting a world-class acoustic hall, every dollar had burned through premium equipment, studio time, and musician fees.
Now, dozens of audio tracks interwove seamlessly inside the mixing room—like a grand sculpture finally polished to completion.
"Good. Perfect."
William exhaled deeply and removed his headphones, unable to hide the satisfaction in his eyes.
"Of course it's perfect," said Mariah with an exaggerated eye roll, leaning elegantly against the armrest of the studio couch. "Do you think I'd risk my professional reputation just to mess with you through some connections?"
There was a hint of diva pride in her tone.
"Well, this is my first film," William replied with a helpless shrug. "I have to guard it like a newborn child."
That earned him another sharp look.
"You've got nerve saying that! You didn't even invite me to the internal screening. But the moment you hit a wall with the soundtrack, suddenly you remember I might have connections in the film world?"
She crossed her arms.
"If I had a worse temper, I'd have blocked your number already."
Despite the words, there was no real anger in her eyes.
What she didn't say aloud was this:
Over the past few conversations, she'd realized that this young director possessed an astonishing musical instinct. His taste was razor-sharp, and in some ways aligned eerily well with her own artistic ambitions.
That kind of cross-disciplinary resonance was rare.
It made her lower her guard.
It made her treat him as an equal.
"Don't worry," William said with a knowing smile. "To repay your lifesaving assistance, I've prepared a special gift for you."
Mariah raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, leaning forward slightly, curiosity piqued.
"Oh? Something you're calling 'special'? Now I'm intrigued."
William shook his head mysteriously and pressed a finger to his lips.
"Let me keep the suspense for a couple more days. When I give it to you, I guarantee you'll fall in love with it."
She gave a small, skeptical huff—but the upward curl at the corner of her mouth betrayed her anticipation.
And William had every reason to be confident.
Because the "gift" he intended to give the future diva was not just a token of gratitude—
It was a song.
A global smash hit that would one day define an era.
He had originally set his sights on the 1993 global smash that cemented Mariah's legend—"Without You."
Unfortunately, that song was itself a cover of a 1970s classic. In this timeline, it already existed.
But William still had another ace up his sleeve.
"All I Want for Christmas Is You."
In the original timeline, Mariah wouldn't write that song until the summer of 1994. It would then go on to become a thirty-year annuity—returning every December like clockwork, dominating charts worldwide and turning into a cultural ritual.
Now, it was mid-November 1989. The air already carried a hint of winter.
Christmas was just over a month away.
If he could "recreate" the sheet music and lyrics in the next few days and place them into Mariah's hands, her voice and industry backing would do the rest. By Christmas 1989, that infectious melody could very well be echoing through speakers across the globe.
Thinking about it, William felt a flicker of quiet gratitude toward his past self.
Back when he'd been a struggling third-rate director in his previous life, he had forced himself to learn everything—screenwriting, editing, even basic composition—just to save money.
If not for that patchwork education, even with a god-tier melody playing perfectly in his mind, he might've been helpless in front of a blank sheet of staff paper.
Plenty of reincarnators could remember a hit song.
Very few could actually write it down.
Mariah rolled her eyes again. "Fine. I'll be waiting."
---
When they stepped out of the recording studio, night had already fallen.
William, with Galina beside him, carried the heavy master tape of the film's soundtrack back to Umbrella Studios without delay.
Final synchronization—aligning sound with picture—was both technical and exhausting. Yet instead of heading straight into the editing suite, William did something unexpected.
He pushed open his office door.
Sitting behind his broad walnut desk, he pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward him and uncapped his fountain pen.
Scratch—scratch—
The sound of pen against paper rang sharply in the quiet room.
William's expression was intensely focused as he began drawing clean, precise staff lines across the page.
Then, one by one, black notes sprang to life beneath his pen.
Melody.
Chord progression.
Instrumentation notes.
He moved quickly, without hesitation.
This wasn't "composition" so much as extraction.
Less than thirty minutes later, the future holiday anthem that would dominate Christmas for decades—"All I Want for Christmas Is You"—lay complete on the page.
Just as he finished the final chorus refinement, a sharp knock burst against the door.
"Come in," William said without looking up.
The door flew open.
Katya rushed in, slightly out of breath, loose strands of hair falling across her flushed face. Her pale skin was tinged pink with excitement.
"William! It's insane! Completely insane!"
Her voice was higher than usual.
"The Nikkei index is still climbing like it's lost its mind! We just got real-time data from the Tokyo exchange. The five million you invested? Your net account value is about to break ten million!"
She braced both hands against the desk, breathing hard.
At one million, she had remained professionally composed.
At five million, she'd merely acknowledged William's luck.
But now?
Watching the numbers multiply several times over in half a year felt less like finance and more like sorcery.
She had done a quick calculation.
His return rate was already well over 300%.
Yet the reaction she expected—ecstatic triumph—never came.
Instead—
"…What's this?"
Katya's breathing slowed as her gaze drifted downward.
On the desk lay the still-drying manuscript.
Staff lines.
Notes.
Lyrics.
A song waiting to change history.