End Of The Gala
"Letting the people vote?! You know, I'm starting to think our esteemed judge might be getting a bit... past his prime. Bless his heart."
Jong-kook's face contorted with rage, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. The veins in his neck bulged, pulsing with each rapid heartbeat.
He glared at Brandon, teeth grinding audibly as he fought to maintain his composure in front of the crowd.
'This insolent brat,' he seethed internally.
'How dare he mock us so openly?'
Beside him, Catherine let out a barely audible sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
She closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself against the inevitable outcome.
When she opened them again, her gaze met Brandon's for a fleeting moment. There was a mix of emotions in her eyes - frustration, resignation, and perhaps a hint of admiration she'd never admit to.
'It's over,' she thought, her heart sinking.
'We never stood a chance.'
Catherine's mind raced, already calculating the fallout from this disastrous competition.
She could almost hear her family's disappointed voices, their expectations weighing heavily on her shoulders.
The crowd's laughter echoed through the ballroom, each chuckle another nail in the coffin of Sinclair and Vanderbilt Records' hopes. Catherine watched as Brandon basked in the audience's approval, his confidence radiating like a beacon.
'He's won them over completely,' she realized, a mixture of envy and respect coloring her thoughts.
'And these fools think their devious ploy will sway more votes in their favor… They've been on top for so long that they've become completely delusional...'
Gerald's face flushed a deep crimson, a vein throbbing visibly at his temple. His eyes, narrowed to slits, burned with unbridled fury as he glared at Brandon.
"Cut the bullshit, boy!" he snarled, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
"Just state your stance and be done with it!"
Brandon stood there for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Then, with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, he nodded.
"Sure thing, old man," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
"I agree. Let the people decide."
A confident smirk played across his lips as he locked eyes with Gerald.
Brandon spun to face Gerald, his expression now one of blatant mockery.
"I can't stop you if you insist on further embarrassing yourself, can I?"
The Master of Ceremony stepped forward, his voice booming through the grand ballroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time to cast your votes! Who will be crowned the champion of this year's NOA Opening Gala? The power is in your hands!"
By this point, the BMG employees and Brandon's gang of friends had cleared the stage.
At the front row table, Joyce blinked meaningfully at Pierre, who responded with a cheeky wink towards Bailey. Bailey's face split into a wide grin, nodding as if privy to an unspoken plan.
Without warning, they began banging their fists on the table, their voices rising in unison.
"BMG! BMG! BMG!"
The chant spread like wildfire, rippling through the crowd.
Row by row, table by table, the entire NOA ballroom joined in, their voices merging into a thunderous roar.
Above the stage, a holographic bar appeared, hovering over Brandon. As the chants grew louder, the bar began to fill.
20%... 40%... 50%...
Jong-kook's face fell, his earlier confidence evaporating. He glanced frantically between the chanting crowd and the steadily rising bar above Brandon.
Gerald Sinclair's complexion paled, his eyes widening in disbelief as the bar continued its relentless climb.
70%... 80%... 90%...
The chants reached a fever pitch as the bar hit 100%.
"BMG! BMG! BMG!"
Brandon stood tall, a triumphant smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the scene before him.
Gerald slumped back into his seat, his lips moving silently.
"Impossible… impossible… impossible" he muttered, his voice barely audible above the roar of the crowd.
"This... this can't be happening."
The Master of Ceremony's voice boomed through the grand ballroom, cutting through the cacophony of cheers and applause.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of this year's NOA Opening Gala competition is... Blackstone Music Group's 13!"
The crowd erupted into a deafening roar, their enthusiasm palpable as Brandon stepped forward, basking in the glow of his triumph.
The Master of Ceremony gestured for the runners-up to leave the stage, their dejected forms slinking away as Brandon took center stage.
"13, what do you have to say about your victory?"
The MC asked, thrusting the microphone towards him.
Brandon's eyes sparkled with excitement as he grabbed the mic.
"This is just the beginning," he declared, his voice resonating through the ballroom.
"To everyone who believed in us, thank you. And to those who doubted..." He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
"Well, you ain't seen nothing yet!"
Suddenly, Brandon's voice rose to a shout,
"Last but not least! Andre, DROP THE BEAT!"
The opening notes of "BMG Crew" thundered through the speakers, and the party ignited once more.
The crowd surged forward, bodies moving in rhythm to the pulsating beat. Brandon waved to the audience, his smile radiant as he gestured towards his friends and the BMG staff.
"Vrrooom~ Vrooooom~"
As if on cue, the drivers of convertible hypercars that had made such a dramatic entrance earlier started revved their engines.
Brandon, his gang of friends, and the BMG executives climbed aboard, their energy infectious as they hyped up the audience.
The cars began to move, creating a slow, triumphant exit out the ballroom.
Brandon stood tall in the lead car, one hand on the mic, the other pumping the air in time with the music.
The BMG crew danced and cheered, their excitement mirrored by the frenzied crowd.
As they neared the exit, Brandon's voice rose above the music once more.
"Thank you, NOA! I'm 13 and BMG's the crew !"
The hypercars revved their engines, the sound melding with the cheers of the crowd and the pulsing beat of "BMG Crew."
In a final burst of speed, the cars shot towards the exit, leaving a trail of excitement and awe in their wake.
The last thing the audience saw was Brandon's victorious silhouette, illuminated by the flashing lights, as he and his crew disappeared into the night, their music still echoing through the ballroom.