The morning sun filtered through the cheap blinds of Jarad’s bedroom, casting sharp lines of light across his desk.
He woke up with a sharp inhale.
The dull, persistent ache in his bones was still there—his body’s quiet rebellion against the sudden lack of pills and lean.
But this time, the discomfort was heavily overshadowed by a surging, electric anticipation.
Sitting right there on his laptop desktop was the master file for Wishing Well.
Jarad threw off his blankets and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Through the floorboards, he could hear the faint sounds of his mother, Carmella, moving around the kitchen, getting ready for another long, exhausting day of work.
He paused, listening to her footsteps.
In his past life—or rather, the original timeline—he had achieved unimaginable fame.
He had the diamond plaques, the sold-out arenas, and the screaming fans.
But sitting here now, with a clear, sober mind, he realized something crucial.
Fame was just a byproduct.
Fame was an illusion that could trap you.
What he really needed was money.
He didn’t want money for designer clothes or a fleet of sports cars to flex on Instagram.
He wanted absolute, unbreakable financial security for his mother.
He wanted to buy her a house where she never had to worry about a mortgage again.
He wanted to give her the peaceful, stress-free life she deserved, far away from the struggles of their current reality.
To do that, he had to treat this music not just as an art form, but as a calculated business.
Jarad walked over to his desk and flipped open the laptop.
In 2014, SoundCloud was the undisputed mecca for the underground rap scene.
It was where legends were born overnight.
But with the memories of 2026 floating in his head, Jarad knew how the internet really worked.
Why limit my reach?
he thought.
SoundCloud is for the culture, but YouTube is the biggest search engine in the world.
He opened his web browser and pulled up both sites side by side.
He was going to drop the track simultaneously on both platforms.
There was just one problem: YouTube required a video.
He didn’t have a music video, and he certainly didn’t want to use some random, stolen anime clip or generic picture off Google.
He needed something that felt authentic to his brand.
Jarad grabbed his clunky 2014 smartphone and opened the camera app.
He stood over his desk and framed up a shot of the cheap, silver USB microphone resting next to his acoustic guitar.
The morning light hit the metal perfectly, giving it a raw, unpolished, “bedroom artist” aesthetic.
He snapped the picture.
It was simple, moody, and perfect.
Using a basic free video editor, he dragged the picture of the microphone onto the timeline and stretched it out to match the three-minute and fifteen-second audio file of Wishing Well.
He rendered the video out, his heart beating a little faster as the progress bar filled up.
First, he clicked over to SoundCloud.
He created his new account, typing in the name that would soon echo across the globe.
He uploaded the audio file, added a few strategic tags—#HipHop, #Acoustic, #Trap, #Chicago—and hit publish.
Next, he tabbed over to YouTube.
He created a channel under the exact same name, Juice WRLD, uploaded the video file with the picture of the microphone, and titled it: Juice WRLD – Wishing Well (Official Audio).
He hovered his mouse over the blue ‘Publish’ button.
This was it.
The point of no return.
Click.
The video went live.
The digital footprint was officially stamped into the internet.
Jarad leaned back in his swivel chair and let out a long, shaky breath.
There was no massive marketing team pushing the song.
There were no label executives forcing it onto playlists.
It was just a brilliant song sitting at the bottom of the ocean, waiting for the right current to pick it up.
He glanced at the clock.
It was time to get dressed for school.
Closing the laptop, Jarad grabbed his backpack.
He had done his part.
Now, he just had to step out into the real world and let the algorithm do the heavy lifting.