Chapter 11: The Jackson Five Begins

Chapter 11: The Jackson Five Begins

It was January 1965, and Michael Jackson was now seven years old. The year was off to a new beginning, but the weight of destiny already hung heavily in the air. The days had begun to blur together, filled with rehearsals, routines, and the stirring anticipation of something much larger than his young mind could fully grasp. His father, Joseph Jackson, had made up his mind—the Jackson Five would be born. And Michael, his youngest son, would be at the heart of it all.

Joseph's dream had always been for his children to become stars, and now it was time to put that dream into motion. The family dynamics were shifting. His older brothers, Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon, had already begun to feel the pressure of their father's demanding vision. They were talented, yes, but Michael was something different. Even at his young age, Michael's voice was already something extraordinary. His talent in singing had always been apparent, but now, with the instrument mastery granted to him by the system, Michael had become more than just a gifted child. He was becoming a prodigy, and Joseph saw it.

"Alright, kids, we're going to make something great here. This band, the Jackson Five, is going to be bigger than anything you've ever seen," Joseph said one evening, pacing back and forth in their living room. His tone was hard and direct, as always. His mind was always on the future, pushing them to be better, faster, stronger. He wasn't one for softness.

Michael's older brothers exchanged uneasy glances, knowing what this would mean for them. Long hours of practice, late nights, and little time for play. But they knew their father was driven, and when he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him.

Michael, however, was already in his own world. His natural rhythm was flowing through his veins. The system had granted him more than just talent; it had gifted him the understanding of music itself. He felt it deep within him—the ability to understand any instrument, to compose and create, to produce sounds that moved people. But it wasn't just about the music. It was the way the system had refined him, had enhanced his physical ability to dance with ease, to sing with soul, to command attention with every step.

The days began to blend into one another as they practiced under their father's strict guidance. They learned songs. They danced. They sang. The Jackson Five was slowly taking shape, but it wasn't always easy. Joseph's methods were intense—sometimes too much for the boys to bear. Michael, despite his young age, handled it with an unwavering focus. Every beat, every note, felt like it was embedded in his soul. He felt the music with an intensity that was both exhilarating and exhausting.

The system, ever present, was silent for the most part, only offering Michael insight when it was truly necessary. The constant pep talks had faded away. Now, the system's interface presented him with new options—different paths to explore. It wasn't so much about encouraging him anymore as it was about providing him the tools to shape his own destiny.

"Michael, you've learned the basics of several instruments," the system's voice rang out in his mind, its tone neutral. "Your ability to play is now more than just a skill—it's a part of you. You can now integrate this knowledge into your performances."

Michael blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in the system's approach. It had always been there, guiding him, but now, it was presenting him with choices. He could see the holographic interface again, displaying a list of instruments he could master further, along with performance tips and technique suggestions. It was up to him now to explore the boundaries of his abilities.

"The piano is a strong choice," the system continued, "but the guitar will offer you a different kind of challenge—one that could bring an entirely new dimension to your music. You have the skills to master any instrument you choose, but remember, it will require time and practice."

Michael's mind raced with possibilities. He had already started to play the piano and even learned some basic guitar chords, but now the system was pushing him further, offering new ways to enhance his sound. He didn't have time to dwell on this, though. Rehearsals were getting more intense.

Joseph was watching every move, pushing them harder with each passing day. He could see the potential in his children, especially Michael. The youngest was standing out in every rehearsal, his voice piercing through the chaos, his body moving with an innate rhythm that seemed effortless. The way Michael danced—so fluid and natural—was captivating. Joseph couldn't help but feel pride swelling in his chest.

As the rehearsals continued, the Jackson Five began to take shape. Michael and his brothers were growing into the roles they would one day play in the band. Tito had already started picking up the guitar, while Jermaine took on the bass. Jackie and Marlon were naturally suited for the rhythm and percussion. But Michael? He was everything—the lead singer, the dancer, the performer. He was the center of attention, and it was clear to everyone around him that he had a certain spark that none of them could deny.

It wasn't long before they started performing small shows in front of family and friends. Joseph, ever the perfectionist, made sure they rehearsed every day. The songs they sang were a mix of old Motown classics and original material. Michael, with his growing talents, sang every song with a passion and intensity far beyond his years.

But there was something else that had begun to surface. As the hours spent practicing turned into days and weeks, Michael found himself drawn to the piano more and more. The system had unlocked something in him—a deep, unquenchable thirst to create, to compose, to be more than just a performer. Every time he sat at the piano, he felt like the notes came alive under his fingers. Each chord seemed to paint a picture, each melody telling a story.

Joseph was noticing it too. During one of the rehearsals, he asked, "Michael, you're getting better and better at this. You've got that natural ability, but can you play something for us? Show us what you've got."

Michael hesitated for only a moment before his fingers danced across the keys. The melody that flowed from him was different—more complex, more beautiful than any of the songs they had practiced before. Joseph's eyes widened as he listened, watching his son pour his soul into the music. Michael wasn't just singing and dancing. He was composing.

"Good, Michael. Keep that up. This is the kind of talent that will take us to the top."

As Michael played, a quiet determination settled over him. He wasn't just following the path laid out for him. He was carving his own.

And as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over him, Michael knew one thing for sure: the Jackson Five was just the beginning.