Face-off
"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal son himself."
Brandon turned to see Darrel Morgan sauntering towards him, a smirk playing on his lips. Darrel's eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and disdain as he looked Brandon up and down.
"I'll admit, the Blackstone name does carry some weight," Darrel drawled, as he took his place on his lift platform.
"But come on, kid. You really think you can take on the Sinclairs in the media space? That's cute."
Brandon raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Darrel's taunts.
"Oh? Let's see if you're this smug after our little duel."
Darrel let out a bark of laughter.
"Hah? We're both but props, accessories to the Sinclairs announcing Jong-kook's new leadership of Sinclair Records. The Sinclairs have been dominating this industry since before you were in diapers."
"Maybe it's time for a change then," Brandon replied coolly.
"The industry could use some fresh blood."
Darrel's smirk widened.
"Fresh blood? More like fresh meat. You have no idea what you're up against, Blackstone. The Sinclairs will eat you alive."
"We'll see about that," Brandon said, his voice steady and confident.
Before Darrel could respond, a stagehand approached them.
"10 seconds, gentlemen. Get ready to ascend."
As the platforms began to rise, Darrel shot Brandon a smug look, his lips curling into a self-assured grin.
Brandon remained composed, his eyes fixed ahead as they ascended towards the grand stage.
The darkness gave way to a burst of dazzling lights. Brandon blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness. The stage was awash in a sea of colors, spotlights dancing across the polished floor.
The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave, the excitement palpable in the air.
From a table in the front row, Pierre and Joyce erupted in cheers, their voices rising above the din. Pierre pumped his fist in the air, while Joyce waved enthusiastically, her jewelry catching the light.
To the side of the stage, Jessie stood with the BMG camera crew, flashing Brandon a thumbs up and a wide smile.
"Ah~ 13, I love you!" a voice cried out from the audience. Several others echoed the sentiment, their shouts piercing through the general hubbub.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Who's this 13?" someone asked, confusion evident in their voice.
"You weren't at Pierre's yacht party?" another replied, incredulous.
"Man, you missed out!"
"Ughh, I was overseas," came the sheepish response, accompanied by a sigh.
"Check Bailey's X page! 13! He's Brandon Blackstone!" another voice chimed in excitedly, their words tumbling out in a rush.
The crowd around them buzzed with renewed energy at this revelation.
"He's back? Didn't he go missing?" someone else asked, their tone a mix of confusion and awe. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathering, as people recalled the mysterious disappearance that had captivated the media.
"He's my idol!" a young woman squealed, her eyes sparkling with adoration.
"His songs, his voice, his face, omg~ Do you know his number? I'll buy it for $10,000!"
"I'll give 50k!" another fan shouted, not to be outdone.
The declaration sent a ripple of gasps through the crowd, highlighting the fervor of Brandon's devoted followers.
The Master of Ceremony approached Brandon, microphone in hand.
"Brandon Blackstone," he began, his voice echoing through the hall, "you made quite a statement in the press conference outside. Care to elaborate on your declaration of war against the music industry?"
Brandon took the microphone, his eyes scanning the expectant faces in the audience.
He paused for a moment, his gaze settling on Gerald Sinclair in the judges' panel.
"Certainly," he said, his voice steady and clear.
"It's time for a change in this industry. For too long, certain entities have been milking the public dry, corrupting our youth, and stunting our cultural growth. I'm looking at you, Sinclair Records."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Gerald Sinclair's face tightened, his eyes narrowing at Brandon.
"We've had manufactured acts pushed down our throats, prioritizing profits over quality music for way too long. It's a system that preys on naive dreams and exploits young talent. But Blackstone Music Group is committed to breaking this cycle."
Brandon's voice grew more passionate.
"We're here to champion real artists who have something genuine to say. No more cookie-cutter pop stars created in boardrooms in exchange for monetary or sexual favors. No more sacrificing artistic integrity for quick cash grabs."
He turned, addressing the audience directly.
"It's time to ask ourselves: do we want a music industry that reflects the depth and diversity of human experience, or one that treats our children like disposable commodities? The Sinclairs have had their reign. Now, it's time for a new era."
Brandon's words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
The crowd buzzed with a mixture of shock and excitement.
As Brandon's words echoed through the hall, Gerald Sinclair's face contorted with rage. His jaw clenched, veins bulging at his temples. In one swift motion, he slammed his fist on the judges' table, causing the other panelists to flinch.
"How dare you!" Gerald roared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. He stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor.
"You insolent little brat!"
Gerald's eyes blazed with fury as he pointed an accusatory finger at Brandon.
"You think you can waltz in here and slander the Sinclair name? We built this industry from the ground up!"
The crowd watched in shocked silence as Gerald continued his tirade.
"You know nothing about running a music empire, boy. You're playing with forces beyond your comprehension."
Brandon stood his ground, unflinching in the face of Gerald's outburst.
This only seemed to infuriate Gerald further.
Gerald's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You want war? Fine. But remember this - the Sinclairs have crushed better men than you. When we're done, there won't be enough left of Blackstone Music Group to fill a thimble."
The tension in the room was palpable as Gerald's words hung in the air. The other judges shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while the audience watched the confrontation with a mixture of shock and fascination.