Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C179

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Chapter 179: ’s Debut

Emotions, you say?

When dropped that line, ’s first reaction was to mentally shrink back.

Not because he didn’t understand what she meant—no, it was quite the opposite.

So, she was aware after all.

Lin Tian had always assumed that when Gan Yanyu played music, she became so deeply immersed in it that her awareness of the real world faded into something akin to sleepwalking through life. But here she was, not only fully conscious but sharp enough to pick up on his subtle manipulations within their performance.

It made sense, though.

During their last session, Lin Tian had deliberately pushed Gan Yanyu into a corner with his playing. It wasn’t just about technical skill; it was like throwing an unexpected punch in a boxing match. Maybe Gan Yanyu couldn’t recall exactly how the blow landed, but she surely felt its impact.

Being overshadowed by someone else’s artistry isn’t pleasant—even if it somehow feels good. And even if she enjoyed it, there was no way she’d wake up completely oblivious afterward.

So, Lin Tian decided to play dumb.

He cautiously asked, “Miss Gan, what emotions are you referring to?”

“Hmm?”

Gan Yanyu tilted her head, her expression puzzled. “You don’t know what emotions your own music conveyed?”

“Well…” Lin Tian hesitated. He couldn’t afford to overdo the act, lest it came across as too fake. Instead, he opted for ambiguity, leaving room for interpretation while giving nothing away.

“My piece carried many layers of emotion,” he said carefully. “Could you specify which one you’re talking about?”

“Starting at minute nine, section three, part one.”

Gan Yanyu’s response hit him like a truck.

What kind of person remembers details like that?

Even Lin Tian himself couldn’t recall where exactly he’d started altering the melody. Still, he tried to buy time. “Actually, this is… complicated.”

Rather than rushing into an explanation, Lin Tian stood up and took two slow steps forward. The moon hung high above them, casting silvery light onto the concrete path below.

“How about we skip the taxi tonight?” he suggested. “Let’s take the subway instead.”

The clock read 11:16 PM. The last train departed at 11:30, and they could make it if they walked briskly.

“Sure,” Gan Yanyu replied, falling into step beside him.

---

They strolled along the street bathed in pale moonlight, their footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

“Before I answer your question, Miss Gan,” Lin Tian began, “could you tell me how you felt when you heard that particular emotion in my music?”

Since Gan Yanyu had brought it up, Lin Tian figured he might as well open the conversation further.

“How I felt…” Gan Yanyu tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It felt warm. Completely different from what we experienced during the preliminaries.”

“Just warm?” Lin Tian pressed.

“Well…” She paused, reconsidering. “It wasn’t warmth exactly—it was more like comfort, a soothing feeling. Like the climax of . You know, those winding rivers of melody that evoke such cozy nostalgia…”

? Lin Tian had no idea what she was talking about. But her description made him smile nonetheless. It meant that Gan Yanyu hadn’t rejected the sentiment he’d woven into the music. If anything, her words hinted at approval—a musical equivalent of saying his love confession was comforting and enjoyable.

Yes, Lin Tian nearly hummed with satisfaction. This was progress.

“But…” Gan Yanyu’s tone shifted slightly. “That ‘emotion’ doesn’t align with what I normally associate with music. It seemed detached from , almost as if it originated elsewhere—not from the piece itself, but from some external source cleverly intertwined with it.”

She furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

Of course, Lin Tian thought, suppressing a chuckle. Poor girl.

To someone like Gan Yanyu, whose performances were entirely rooted in the essence of the music itself, encountering an emotion unrelated to the composition must have been disorienting. It was like playing a video game and suddenly having the console unplugged mid-battle. While Gan Yanyu pondered whether her opponent had used some secret technique to black out her screen, she failed to notice the obvious: the plug had simply been pulled.

And now, intrigued by this mysterious force, she turned to Lin Tian for answers.

His response? A nonchalant shrug and two simple words: “No apprentices.”

---

After some reflection, however, Gan Yanyu voiced her thoughts aloud. “I can guess how you did it, but I’m more curious about the origin of that emotion.”

Her curiosity wasn’t about Lin Tian’s method—it was about why she’d never encountered such a technique before. Based on her experiences, she hypothesized that it might stem from the emotional bond between partners. After all, she’d occasionally felt similar emotions around Lin Tian during their collaborations. Those moments, she realized, were among the happiest of their partnership.

Did other duos share these kinds of feelings too? Partnerships really were wonderful, she mused.

As Lin Tian watched Gan Yanyu alternate between serious contemplation and gazing at the stars, he felt a pang of guilt. All he’d done was inject a bit of heartfelt piano work into their performance—a veiled confession of sorts—and yet, to Gan Yanyu, it felt like material for hundreds of episodes of a suspenseful detective drama.

But he couldn’t blame her. For someone who struggled to grasp the nuances of interpersonal boundaries, expecting her to comprehend romantic feelings was asking too much.

Still, Lin Tian adjusted his approach. “Miss Gan,” he ventured, “if I don’t explain the source of that emotion, do you think you could replicate it purely by listening?”

“Replicate it?” Gan Yanyu considered the idea. Reproducing the emotion Lin Tian had infused into the piano intrigued her, but ultimately, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. First, it’s not my style. Second, I may not possess that kind of emotion myself.”

Lin Tian froze mid-step. “Don’t say you don’t have it!” he exclaimed, louder than intended.

“Huh?” Gan Yanyu blinked, startled by his sudden intensity.

“If you can’t feel it, it’s only because you haven’t noticed it yet. Think harder,” Lin Tian urged, his voice tinged with urgency.

Gan Yanyu stared at him, curiosity piqued. Was Lin Tian hiding something from her?

Regaining composure, Lin Tian softened his tone. “I believe you have it,” he said earnestly. “This is something I’ve known for a while. If you reflect deeply, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Even as he spoke, Lin Tian couldn’t help but feel like he was speaking in riddles. But how else could he phrase it? Telling Gan Yanyu outright that his performance had subdued hers during their duet—and that her reaction indicated mutual affection—would be far too blunt.

Gan Yanyu was slow to catch on, but she wasn’t stupid.

“Alright,” she murmured thoughtfully.

“So, returning to your original question…” Lin Tian’s mind raced. Now was the moment to deflect. He resisted the urge to burst into song right then and there:

Dear, that’s not love~

“Wait,” Gan Yanyu interrupted, raising a hand to stop him. Her expression was solemn. “Don’t tell me yet.”

Lin Tian froze, unease creeping in. Did she suspect something?

Click-clack—the sound of her heels echoed on the pavement as Gan Yanyu strode ahead, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamppost. Turning to face Lin Tian, she extended a finger toward him, her gaze unwavering.

“Your explanation just now made me realize something interesting,” she said. “I’ve decided to find the answer myself. When I discover it, I’ll recreate that emotion for you. Together, we’ll create an incredible performance.”

Clasping her hands together, she grinned brightly, lost in the excitement of her plan.

For a moment, Lin Tian was speechless. Then, slowly, he smiled. “Alright.”

---

This was the day chose to announce Lin Tian and Gan Yanyu’s official debut as “Moonlight and Cat.” Though the significance of the date remained unclear, the announcement was posted promptly at noon via the company’s official account.

“The harmony of music and dreams begins anew today. We are thrilled to announce that the renowned duo “Moonlight and Cat” has officially signed with Yueyun Entertainment. In the days ahead, let us witness the creation of more moving melodies and explore the infinite possibilities of music. Thank you to all our fans for your support and encouragement. The future is bright—stay tuned!”

Within minutes of the post going live, the comment section exploded with activity, flooding at a rate of 99+ comments per minute.

“Wait, wait—I’m not seeing things, right? Moonlight and Cat?!”

“No way! Are Moonlight Bro and Cat-chan actually debuting?! Aren’t they still in high school?!”

“This is insane! How did I end up being a fan of such a niche thing?!”

Countless netizens scrolled through their feeds, casually digesting gossip news until they stumbled upon Yueyun Entertainment’s announcement. Initial reactions ranged from mild interest (“Oh, another musician signed?”) to disbelief as readers processed the name “Moonlight and Cat.”

Once they confirmed it was indeed the Moonlight and Cat—the same ones who’d recently sparked controversy online—jaws collectively dropped.

Without warning or buildup, the duo everyone assumed would remain underground talents had officially debuted. Not as idols, singers, or actors—but as professional musicians.

This revelation validated everything they’d claimed about their journey: self-written compositions, self-produced videos, no hidden teams backing them. Their talent alone had earned them this contract, proving beyond doubt their authenticity.

Haters’ nightmares ensued. Across the internet, trolls who’d accused Moonlight and Cat of relying on “behind-the-scenes teams” or dismissed them as mere “internet celebrities” faced swift backlash. Searches for “Yueyun Entertainment” surged overnight as curious fans wondered how this relatively unknown company had secured such prized artists.

Inquiries revealed that Yueyun Entertainment boasted a solid reputation. Established twenty years ago, the company had nurtured numerous musicians without major scandals. Its low number of lawsuits involving artists further attested to its integrity.

Meanwhile, rival companies weren’t spared either. Fans flocked to SYC’s social media pages, mocking their failure to sign Moonlight and Cat despite sponsoring their equipment for free.

“Ha! Guess losing doesn’t pay off.”

“You snooze, you lose, huh?”

Less than an hour later, “Moonlight and Cat’s Debut” trended third on Weibo’s hot topics list. Discussions spilled over to TikTok and Bilibili, where fans celebrated with champagne emojis and demands for their debut album.

While the contract itself mattered little to most fans, two promises fueled their excitement: the release of new albums and the possibility of a live concert. Would the long-awaited CD finally drop? What about a symphony tour?

For especially, the prospect of a joint performance held unparalleled allure. After all, every idol group threw debut concerts—why should Moonlight and Cat be any different?

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