Sparring session in a Temple
[Inheritor is Trending]
What? J Cole pulled out his iPhone 14, his heart pounding in his chest as he couldn't help but grasp at the current trend.*
An article headlines was all over social media.
"AN UPCOMING SENSATION BULLDOZED HIS WAY AS THE CURRENT MOST SEARCHED INDIVIDUAL ON X."
"Fuck!, so soon?" J Cole exclaimed. He was genuinely happy for his rising fame, but he needed to be ready for the aftermath.
"Cipher! quickly create a Nanotechnology Gear,* I can't take chances!"
[Affirmative]
[Estimated time wait.. 48 hrs]
"Oh, great!... Now I'll have to lie low for two days," J Cole said.
He left the private gym room for his room. "Now let's learn martial arts," the excitement in his voice was clear.
....
In the simulator..
Minutes later, J Cole stood within the hallowed halls of a Chinese temple. The black Gi attire caressed his skin as if it were a second skin. He felt the aura of the place change, and it was as if he was stepping into a new, more powerful version of himself.
The old teacher, a stern figure, commanded the attention of all the students, his gaze piercing the room. "I hope you all remember the etiquette and manners I taught you, because there will be punishment for failure to comply," the old teacher stated.
"Now stand, and choose your sparring partner as the scent of incense hung in the air, the coolness of the polished temple floor felt beneath their feet. The anticipation was palpable."
J Cole found himself standing in front of a moderately built man, and then, with the sound of a drum, they bowed to each other, and then a battle of wits began.
The moderately built man kept throwing jabs at J Cole, a smirk on his face when he saw J Cole dodging his jabs. "Fast, eh? Well, let's see how you dodge this," the moderately built man threw out a cross followed by a hook and an uppercut combo. But the genetically evolved J Cole was way too fast for him. J Cole smoothly dodged through the array of jab techniques without breaking a sweat. The moderately built man was pissed at his incompetence to touch J Cole, and the spar turned into a fierce fight. A fight so spectacular that one would mistake them for professional stunt actors. Their fight became a mesmerizing dance, each move executed with precision. One threw a flurry of boxing styles while the other moved with a fluid grace that left the audience in awe.
Although in the eyes of the crowd, the battle was judged as leveled, in the teacher's eyes, it was a clash of vision and inexperience, a moment that could define J Cole's destiny.
He could see through J Cole's inability to counter due to inexperience while the moderately built man had the experience but lacked vision, the ability to predict and take risks.
"Enough! We don't have all day," the teacher's voice cut through the tension, and with the sound of the drum, the spar session ended.
J Cole could feel his chest rising and falling, gasping for air, while the moderately built man struggled to catch his breath.
"The purpose for the sparring session is now complete," the teacher declared, his authority unshaken. "Your weaknesses and merits have all been observed, and your training modules will be modified accordingly. Now, let the training begin."
---
"Are you sure, boss? He might not like it," Rechael, the assistant, said hesitantly, her concern etched across her face like a worried shadow.
Miss Rose's frustration was palpable, her voice tinged with exasperation. "So what would you have me do? That boy has gone MIA on me for a whole week now. All he does is smuggle food from my kitchen into his room for days. His room is always locked, for crying out loud! I can't believe he is my supposed partner in the company. He clearly doesn't care about our company and his rising fame."
She clenched her fists, the knuckles turning white, as if trying to contain her disappointment and anger. Her fingers dug into the edge of her desk, her grip fierce, as though the wood could bear the weight of her frustration.
"I've decided," Miss Rose declared, her voice tremulous with determination and a hint of concern. It was clear that her patience had worn thin, and the emotions in her eyes revealed a deep concern for J Cole.
"But boss," Rachael interjected, her voice soft and filled with empathy.
Miss Rose's shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the situation bore down on her. She sighed, a mixture of resignation and concern in her breath. "Don't stress on it, Rachael! Go and carry out my orders."
Rachael nodded, her expression a blend of understanding and readiness to execute the boss's instructions. She knew the decision wasn't taken lightly, and the concern for J Cole's well-being was evident in her eyes.
"Yes, boss."
Within two hours, a new clip was posted on social media. J Cole was seen giving DJ Smiggle a thumbs up. The gentle strumming of a guitar filled the air, followed by a smooth, melodious tune. J Cole's voice rang out with a catchy phrase, "Talk to me nice or don't talk to me at all." Then the short intro of his first single was heard, the caption boldly stated: "Can't Relate" by Johnathan Black {J. Black} - Audio Out Now.
...
In the dimly lit high-rise apartment in the heart of Shanty Town, the social media influencer sprawled across the luxurious bed, surrounded by a display of opulence. His Instagram live feed had just ended, and the room was a chaotic collage of rented extravagance - Nike clothes, Brioni suits, Jordan shoes, and glistening jewelry. But within the façade he'd carefully crafted for his online persona, a tempest of emotions raged.
The weight of maintaining his meticulously curated image bore down on him like a leaden cloak. He clenched his jaw and muttered, "All this just to keep my fan base up." The irony of it all gnawed at him, as he grappled with the hollowness of his digital existence. Loneliness, that persistent specter, seemed to envelop him, despite the thousands of followers who adored his curated life.
Suddenly, a notification from Spotify pierced the stillness of the room. "New Artist in the block, Stream to Can't relate by J. Black."
His brows furrowed, and he mumbled, "J. Black? Interesting name choice." Intrigued, he tapped on the notification, and the song began to play.
The room filled with the haunting strumming of a guitar, setting the stage for a soul-stirring journey of lyrics. As the words flowed, the melancholic melody struck him like a sledgehammer, and his heart clenched with a pang of recognition. It was as though the songwriter had delved deep into his soul and extracted every hidden emotion he'd been burying beneath his online persona.
The music wove a tapestry of emotions around him - regret, longing, and a yearning for authenticity. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the raw, unvarnished truth of the lyrics. The song became a mirror, reflecting the very core of his being, making him realize the emptiness of his digital facade.
In that moment, he felt a profound connection, not with his followers or the material possessions surrounding him, but with the haunting resonance of J. Black's music. It was a poignant reminder that amidst the artifice of his online life, a piece of his genuine self had been hidden away, waiting to be uncovered.