The Real World
Light cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, where intricate frescoes depicting scenes of classical mythology seemed to come alive under the glow of countless crystal fixtures.
The glass walls reflected the opulence within, creating an illusion of infinite space and grandeur.
As the Master of Ceremony took the stage, his polished shoes gleaming against the black marble runway, a hush fell over the crowd.
The runway, stretching from the entrance to the far end of the ballroom, was flanked by tables adorned with centerpieces that rivaled museum exhibits in their artistry and value.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the MC's voice resonated through the state-of-the-art sound system,
"Welcome to the Noblesse Oblige Academy Opening Gala."
His words seemed to dance among the Roman columns that lined the perimeter, their gilded accents catching the light and casting a warm glow across the faces of the attendees.
The air itself felt rarefied, as if breathing in this atmosphere of wealth and power might transform one's very essence.
"Tonight," he continued, gesturing grandly, "we celebrate the pinnacle of achievement, the convergence of top talent and unbridled ambition that defines our institution."
As he spoke, holographic displays shimmered to life along the glass walls, showcasing the achievements of past alumni and the promise of the incoming class.
The juxtaposition of cutting-edge technology against the classical architecture created a visual metaphor for the academy's blend of tradition and innovation.
The MC's voice swelled with pride as he announced,
"Let us begin this evening's festivities with a showcase of the extraordinary talents that will shape our future."
A ripple of excitement coursed through the audience.
"This year, we have a thrilling face-off between the music labels of our six exceptional NOA freshmen. Let me explain the rules of the competition."
The MC paused for effect, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.
"We'll begin with a series of one-on-one battles. Our freshmen's labels will be randomly paired, and only the victors will advance."
Holographic displays flickered to life around the ballroom, showcasing the logos of the competing labels.
"But that's not all, folks," the MC continued, his enthusiasm infectious.
"The top three labels that emerge triumphant from these face-offs will proceed to our grand finale!"
The crowd buzzed with anticipation.
"In our final round," the MC's voice rose to a crescendo, "these three finalists will compete for a prize beyond compare. The winning label will earn the extraordinary opportunity to send one of their acts to appear on any of the hottest music-related TV reality shows of their choice!"
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the audience.
"Now, let the games begin!"
The MC's announcement was met with thunderous applause.
[ BMG Green Room ]
Brandon sat before the dresser in the green room backstage, his reflection staring back at him as he adjusted his suit. Jessie hovered at his side, her face etched with concern.
"Boss, there's something you should know about the competition," Jessie said, her voice low and urgent.
Brandon turned to face her, raising an eyebrow.
"Just call me Brandon. What is it?"
Jessie took a deep breath.
"The judging rules are... complicated. There are three main judges and six professional music critics, their vote consist of 60% of the votes . The remaining 40% comes from the audience."
Brandon nodded, processing the information.
"Okay, that's expected. What's the problem?"
Jessie hesitated, her eyes darting around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers.
"Spill. What's on your mind?" Brandon urged.
"Well," Jessie started, lowering her voice even further, "one of the main judges is Gerard Sinclair."
Brandon's eyes narrowed.
"Gerard Sinclair? The VP of Sinclair Media Group?"
Jessie nodded. "And ex-owner of Sinclair Music. But that's not all..." She trailed off, biting her lip.
"Go on," Brandon encouraged, his curiosity piqued.
Jessie leaned in closer.
"I have reason to believe that the six music experts... they might be in Sinclair's pocket."
Brandon's jaw tightened.
"You're saying we're looking at 40% of the votes already against us from the get-go?"
Jessie nodded grimly.
"That's if the other two judges remain impartial…"
Brandon's eyes widened as Gordon suddenly opened the green room door, striding in with purpose.
"Where have you been Gordon?" Brandon asked, surprise evident in his voice.
Gordon didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he pulled out a smartphone and handed it to Brandon.
Curiosity piqued, Brandon browsed the document on the screen. His eyebrows shot up as he realized what he was looking at—a comprehensive collection of dirt on six individuals.
Brandon looked up, meeting Gordon's steady gaze.
"These are... the music critics?"
Gordon nodded, his expression unreadable.
Brandon's mind raced, processing the implications. He set the phone down, his fingers drumming against the dresser.
"Gordon, this competition... it's rigged from the start. How can NOA allow this? It's completely unfair."
Gordon's lips quirked into a small, humorless smile.
"Young Master, there's no such thing as fair in this world. NOA doesn't just allow it—they encourage it."
Brandon's brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"This is all part of their curriculum," Gordon explained, his tone matter-of-fact.
"NOA views these... situations as preparation for the real world. They're getting you accustomed to the harsh realities you'll face out there."
Brandon leaned back, considering Gordon's words.
"So, doing whatever it takes is just part of the game?"
Gordon nodded.
"In a way, yes. They believe that understanding how the system works—flaws and all—is crucial for success. It's not just about understanding the rules; it's about creating new ones."
Brandon held up the smartphone Gordon handed to him.
"And this?" Brandon asked, looking up at Gordon.
Gordon's lips curved into a subtle smile, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.
"Just as the Sinclairs have the resources to replace the third judge and bribe the so-called music experts, young master, you have us—the Blackstone Vanguards."
Brandon's eyebrows shot up, surprise evident on his face.
He glanced back at the phone, then at Gordon, then slumped back into the dresser's chair.
Brandon stared at his reflection in the mirror, his confident exterior masking the internal dialogue raging in his mind.
'Well, aren't you a real badass, Brandon?' he thought, a wry smile playing on his lips.
'You've gone and orchestrated this grand performance, supposedly planned every last detail... except for the one thing that actually matters. The judging. Bravo.'
He adjusted his collar, shaking his head slightly.
'You just waltzed in here, thinking your music would speak for itself. As if talent alone is enough… Naive much...'
Brandon's eyes met his reflection's gaze, a mix of amusement and self-deprecation in them.
'You've got a long way to go, hotshot. This isn't some feel-good movie where the underdog wins just because they've got heart. This is the real world, and you just stumbled into a game where everyone else seems to know the rules except you.'
He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling softly at his own oversight.
'Warring against the corrupted, the immoral and the incompetent huh…'