Sinclair Records Vs

Brandon felt Gordon's reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"The occasional blunder is to be expected, Young Master," Gordon said, his voice calm and steady.

"This is precisely why I'm here—to support and guide you."

Brandon smiled and nodded.

He glanced at the phone again, a question forming in his mind.

"Gordon, why did you guys only target the music critics? Why not the judges as well?"

Gordon's lips curved into a profound smile.

"The judges… hold positions that may be inconvenient to target head on… for now…"

Before Brandon could respond, the flatscreen in the room crackled to life. The Master of Ceremony's voice boomed through the speakers, drawing their attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests of Noblesse Oblige Academy, it is my great pleasure to introduce our distinguished panel of judges for tonight's competition!"

Brandon straightened up, his focus shifting to the screen.

"First, please welcome the esteemed Headmaster of Noblesse Oblige Academy, Sir Alaric!"

The camera panned to a diminutive figure with wispy white hair and oversized glasses, who seemed to be dozing off in his chair.

"Next, we have the Director of NOA's Music and Media Program, Annabelle Montclair!"

A stern-looking woman with sharp features and impeccably styled white hair nodded curtly at the camera.

"And finally, joining us from Sinclair Media Group, Vice President Gerald Sinclair!"

The camera settled on a tall, imposing man with cold blue eyes and a superior smirk.

"Now, let's give a round of applause for our panel of distinguished music critics..."

A quintet of impeccably attired figures settled into chairs on a raised platform behind the judges.

The Master of Ceremony cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to explain the voting system for tonight's competition. Each of our esteemed judges decision will account for 10% of the total vote, while each critic's choice will account for 5%. The remaining 40% will be divided evenly among you, our distinguished audience members."

"And now, without further ado, let's start our NOA Opening Gala Competition!" The Master of Ceremony's voice boomed through the hall.

Suddenly, a massive hologram materialized in the center of the room, displaying two slot machine-like panels. Names of record labels flashed by at dizzying speeds, blurring into streaks of light.

The panels began to slow, the names becoming clearer with each passing second.

"The first face-off will be..."

The Master of Ceremony paused for dramatic effect as the holograms came to a stop.

"Sinclair Records versus Cypher Sounds!"

The hologram burst into a mesmerizing display of data particles, swirling and dancing like digital fireworks.

The audience gasped in awe as the spectacle unfolded before their eyes. Suddenly, the floor beneath the stage began to move, and two platforms rose from below.

Jong-kook emerged first, his confident smirk visible even from a distance. He stood tall, his designer suit gleaming under the spotlights. Next to him, Devon appeared, looking slightly nervous but determined.

As the platforms locked into place, the Master of Ceremony approached them with a microphone in hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear from the label owners of our first contestants!" he announced.

"Jong-kook, would you like to introduce yourself?"

Jong-kook grabbed the mic, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"Of course. I'm Jong-kook Sinclair, CEO of Sinclair Records. I've launched countless successful idol groups and dominated the charts overseas for years. Tonight, I'll show you why Sinclair Records is the pinnacle of the music industry."

The Master of Ceremony nodded, then turned to Devon.

"And you, young man?"

Devon took the microphone, his voice quieter but sincere.

"I'm Devon Sinclair. It's always been my dream to become a rapper. I'm here tonight to prove that I have what it takes to make it in this industry."

Jong-kook's smirk widened as he turned to Devon, his eyes gleaming with mockery.

"Aw, how cute. The little mutt wants to play with the big dogs."

Devon's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the microphone.

He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could utter a word, a cold, authoritative voice cut through the air.

"Enough," Gerald Sinclair drawled from his seat at the judges' table.

His piercing blue eyes fixed on Devon with undisguised contempt.

"We're here to judge music, not listen to strays yapping. Let's get on with the show and stop wasting everyone's time."

The audience murmured, some gasping at the blatant insult.

Devon felt his face flush with anger, his earlier nervousness evaporating in the heat of his fury. He stepped forward, his voice sharp and clear.

"I'm pursuing my own path, not just obsessing over hand-outs."

Gerald's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Watch your tongue, boy. And you have no brothers you bl—."

"Oh my, is that a fly?"

Headmaster Alaric's voice suddenly piped up, his eyes comically wide behind his oversized glasses.

*CLAP!*

He swatted at the air in front of Gerald's face, effectively cutting off the man's tirade.

"Nasty little buggers, always buzzing about when you least expect it. Now, where were we? Ah yes, music! Let's have some of that, shall we?"

The tension in the room dissipated as quickly as it had built, replaced by confused chuckles and bemused glances.

The Master of Ceremony, grateful for the interruption, cleared his throat.

"Yes, indeed! Let's begin with Sinclair Records' showcase. Please welcome to the stage, WoW!"

The lights dimmed, and three slender silhouettes appeared on the stage. As the first beats of a catchy, if simplistic, tune filled the air, spotlights illuminated the trio of young women.

Each wore matching outfits that left little to the imagination—crop tops, short skirts, and knee-high boots that glittered under the lights.

As the music swelled, the lead singer's voice rang out, clear and auto-tuned to perfection:

"Boy, you make me say wow, wow, wow

Can't take my eyes off you now, now, now

Your love is like a drug, I'm addicted

Can't get enough, I'm afflicted"

As the chorus kicked in, the girls launched into a synchronized dance routine. Their movements were fluid and provocative, hips swaying and hair flipping in perfect unison.

The lyrics were simple, bordering on vapid, but the delivery was flawless.. Their choreography was a masterclass in sensuality, each move designed to captivate and entice.

"Phew-ew-witt~!"

Whistles and cheers erupted from various corners of the room, predominantly from the male attendees. Several men in the front rows leaned forward in their seats, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape.