BMG - 13
As the applause began to die down, the Master of Ceremony stepped onto the stage, his voice booming through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, wasn't that something? Let's hear it one more time for The Dolls!"
Another wave of cheers swept through the crowd.
The MC waited for the noise to subside before continuing, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"Now, folks, we've got something special coming up next. You've heard the buzz, you've seen the headlines, and now it's time to witness the phenomenon for yourselves. Get ready for the debut performance from BMG's newest sensation!"
The audience's murmur grew louder, anticipation building. Brandon felt a surge of adrenaline course through him as he prepared to step out.
"He's the man who's been shaking up the industry, the voice behind the viral sensation that's been sweeping the nation. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the one, the only... 13!"
The crowd exploded into cheers and screams, the excitement reaching fever pitch. Brandon took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to make his entrance.
Brandon's heart raced as he stood in the wings, the roar of the crowd washing over him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sound envelop him.
This was it. His first real step into this world's music industry.
"You've got this," he whispered to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists. "A lot is riding on this..."
The weight of expectation pressed down on him. He wasn't just performing for himself or his ambitions anymore. He carried the hopes of BMG, of Jessie and the other executives who'd put their faith in him.
The lights in the grand ballroom suddenly dimmed, plunging the audience into darkness.
A hush fell over the crowd, their excited chatter fading to whispers, then silence. In that moment of anticipation, a single spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating a solitary figure at the center of the stage.
Brandon sat on a simple wooden stool, an electric guitar cradled in his arms.
The stark contrast to the previous flashy performances was immediately apparent.
There were no backup dancers, no elaborate set pieces - just Brandon, his guitar, a mic-stand and the spotlight.
As his fingers touched the strings, the first notes floated through the air alongst the beautiful background instrumentals.
The melody was hauntingly beautiful, each note crisp and clear in the hushed ballroom.
Brandon's fingers danced across the fretboard with practiced ease, weaving a tapestry of sound that seemed to hang in the air.
The audience sat transfixed, many leaning forward in their seats.
Some closed their eyes, letting the music wash over them.
Others watched Brandon intently, mesmerized by the graceful movements of his hands as he played.
Brandon kept his eyes closed, lost in the music, oblivious to the effect he was having on the audience. His body swayed slightly with the rhythm, completely in sync with the melody he was creating.
As he began to sing, his voice emerged deep and raspy, filled with raw emotion.
"He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He don't play for respect"
The audience sat in stunned silence, captivated by the soulful performance.
In the front row, Headmaster Alaric leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with interest. Director Annabelle, usually stoic, found herself tapping her foot to the rhythm, mouth hung agape.
Brandon's raspy voice grew stronger as he continued:
"He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden laws of a probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance"
A collective shiver ran through the crowd. Some closed their eyes, swaying gently to the music. Others watched Brandon intently, mesmerized by his passionate delivery.
Headmaster Alaric nudged Director Annabelle, a rare smile playing on his lips.
"Now this," he whispered, "is what I call talent."
Annabelle nodded, her expression softening.
"Indeed. He's... surprising."
As Brandon launched into the chorus, his voice soared:
"I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart"
As Brandon's voice filled the ballroom, Gerald Sinclair's face began to change.
The smug confidence that had been etched into his features moments ago slowly melted away, replaced by a mixture of disbelief and barely concealed anger.
His eyes, which had been narrowed in disdain, now widened as he watched Brandon perform. The raw talent on display was undeniable, even to someone as biased as Gerald.
He could feel the energy in the room shift, the audience captivated by Brandon's soulful rendition.
'This Blackstone kid might be a greater problem than we anticipated…'
Gerald's jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. His hand, resting on the arm of his chair, curled into a fist, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.
He wanted nothing more than to dismiss Brandon's performance, to find some flaw or weakness to exploit.
But as the song continued, Gerald found himself struggling against the reality before him.
Gerald's eyes darted around the room, taking in the enraptured faces of the audience.
He saw looks of wonder, of admiration, even of awe.
It was clear that Brandon had captured their attention in a way that none of the previous acts had managed.
As much as Gerald wanted to deny it, to find some way to discredit Brandon, he couldn't escape the truth.
Brandon was the real deal.
His talent was undeniable, his stage presence magnetic.
Gerald felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized how severely he had underestimated the threat that Brandon posed to Sinclair Music's dominance.
The audience held their breath, hanging on every word. In that moment, the grand ballroom faded away, leaving only Brandon and his music.
"He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal a king in his hand
While the memory of it fades"
As Brandon's voice filled the grand ballroom, Headmaster Alaric leaned forward in his seat, his eyes widening with each passing verse.
The old man's usual mask of aloof amusement slipped away, replaced by an expression of genuine wonder.
Beside him, Director Annabelle sat rigid, her usual stern demeanor cracking under the weight of Brandon's performance.
Her lips parted slightly, a small gasp escaping as she listened to the lyrics. The depth and complexity of the words seemed to resonate with her on a profound level.
Alaric turned to Annabelle, his eyebrows raised in silent question.
She met his gaze, a flicker of excitement dancing in her eyes.
Without a word, they both nodded, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. This was something special, something beyond the usual fare they'd grown accustomed to hearing at these events.