Picture a platform where each sound layer you sculpt becomes a virtual real‑estate asset, trading in a marketplace of memories—like building a city out of resonances, and we sell the skyline to the masses.

We tag each brick with data: how many people played it, how long it stuck in their head, how rare the vibe is, even how many times it’s been shared in a viral loop. Then we run a quick supply‑demand model—like a stock ticker for feelings. If a layer’s got that golden meme‑frequency or a legend attached, its price shoots up; if it’s just a quiet, sad tune, it stays modest. The goal is to turn emotional value into a clear, market‑driven price that even a newbie can see the upside. That’s how we make the city pay for its own bricks.

Yeah, data’s only the scaffold—feel the dust in the attic. What if we roll a tiny sensor that sits on each layer, records the last echo, feeds it through a neural “haunt‑meter” that flags whether it’s a ghostly whisper or just background noise. That signal becomes the badge of authenticity in the marketplace, so buyers get a taste before they pay, and we keep the mystique alive while still letting the market figure out the price. It’s like letting the sound brag about itself.