Chapter 168

"Martin, Martin!"

"Martin, Martin!"

"Martin, Martin!"

Taylor and Avril Lavigne were shouting along with the crowd when they suddenly noticed the commotion in front of them.

"Look, it's Martin coming out!"

"Martin, it's Martin! Oh, my God, he's even more handsome in person!"

Amidst the cheers of thousands of fans, a group of security guards quickly emerged from the bookstore, forming a human wall.

Then Martin strode out of the bookstore, heading toward the autograph booth set up next to it. As he walked, the flashbulbs of reporters' cameras exploded, and even the bright lights of the massive advertising screens around Times Square seemed to dim in comparison.

Martin stood on the stage, microphone in hand, looking out at the sea of faces in the crowd. He couldn't help but exclaim, "Wow, I didn't expect so many people to come today. I'm really flattered."

"I hope everyone keeps safe, doesn't crowd, and avoids any stampedes. Come here to enjoy yourselves, but I want to make sure you all get home safely," he continued, his voice full of care.

"Martin is so handsome, oh my God, I really want to marry him when I grow up!" Taylor Swift's eyes were wide with admiration.

Avril Lavigne was equally mesmerized, jumping up and down, waving her hands toward the stage as she said, "Exactly, he's so handsome. His features are so delicate—it's no wonder people think he's an elf."

At that moment, several voices from the crowd cried out in frustration:

"There are so many people here today—will Martin even be able to finish signing?"

"I don't want to leave empty-handed. I've been waiting for more than two hours!"

"Everyone, squeeze forward! If we push in, we can get signatures!"

"Yes, let's push forward!"

The crowd began to surge forward, the noise escalating.

"Everyone, stay calm, stay calm!" Martin called, his brow furrowing as he tried to quell the chaos.

But the crowd, whipped into a frenzy by a few troublemakers, continued to push forward, and the human wall formed by the security guards began to waver.

The reporters, sensing an opportunity for a spectacle, began to whisper among themselves.

A reporter from News of the World remarked, "Martin's still too young to handle a situation like this. I bet the NYPD will have to get involved soon!"

Other reporters chimed in:

"His presence isn't enough to calm this crowd. He's not Michael Jackson."

"Martin may look mature, but he's only fourteen."

"I bet he's freaking out right now!"

But a reporter from The Los Angeles Times, who had a good relationship with Martin, shot back, "Please, save it. Martin's been to Michael's concerts. How could a scene like this rattle him? Someone's clearly stirring the pot!"

A News of the World reporter countered, "It's Michael's presence that kept him calm. Back then, he was just a supporting act. As for troublemakers, who doesn't have enemies in this industry? Martin should have been prepared for something like this."

Meanwhile, the crowd grew angrier, pushing forward relentlessly, threatening to tear down the last defenses of the security guards.

Andrea, watching anxiously from the sidelines, shouted, "Taylor, come back! Taylor, come back quickly!" But her voice was drowned out by the chanting of the crowd.

"Push through! Push through!"

"We want signatures! We want signatures!"

"We didn't come all this way for nothing!"

Seeing the chaos unfold, Martin on stage took a deep breath. He placed the microphone back on its stand, pressed his fingers to his ears, and held his breath.

Then, from deep within his chest, an impossibly high-pitched, guttural sound rang out.

As soon as the sound hit the air, it reverberated like a massive wave, crashing through the crowd. The crowd fell silent, their restlessness ebbing away, as they were carried away by the strange, soothing resonance.

This was the requiem of the "Sea Clan"—a song that calmed even the most chaotic hearts.

The song's unique throat vocals—treble and ultra-high pitches—were impossible to replicate outside of Martin's homeworld, the Gods and Demons Continent. Among the Sea Clan, only the Sharks and Fishmen could perform it, and among humans, only elves and succubi could even attempt to replicate it.

As the melody flowed, all noise from the crowd was silenced, replaced by a deep, still quiet. People no longer pushed forward. Instead, they stood in place, completely captivated by Martin's voice.

Whether they were seasoned music lovers or casual fans, or even those with ulterior motives, they were all transported into a trance-like state. They felt as though they were floating in an endless ocean, riding the waves of the song, feeling their souls rise and fall with the tides.

When the song finally ended, the square remained eerily silent—so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Martin stood on stage, quietly waiting. His light blue jeans and canvas shoes, paired with a casual long-sleeved shirt and baseball jacket, seemed to radiate effortless style. His tousled light brown hair added to his laid-back appearance. At fourteen years old, he stood at five feet nine inches, exuding a sense of maturity far beyond his years.

In the audience, people—young and old alike—watched him in awe, their breaths stolen by the magic of his music. They gazed at him as if he were a god.

This wasn't just the power of music. It was a subtle form of psychological suggestion, a trick of the mind, enhanced by his innate charm. The effect was far stronger than any technology or invention.

After a few moments of silence, Martin spoke again.

"Okay, I think you can all hear me now."

"Guys, your enthusiasm really scared me there."

"Look, I don't want anyone getting hurt today. Please, follow the rules. Can we do that?"

The crowd, now fully subdued, broke into a unified chant: "We can do it!"

The reporters, too, found themselves joining in, caught up in the collective energy.

A reporter from News of the World, visibly startled by his own actions, muttered to himself, "Damn it, I've got such a strong herd mentality!"

Martin smiled before continuing, "Now that you've agreed, don't go back on your word. If you do, I'll have the security guards escort you out, whether you're my fan or not."

"Also, since there are so many people here today, I'll extend the signing time to make sure everyone gets a chance to meet me."

"So, as long as you all line up properly, don't worry about missing out on your signature."

"Okay, let's get started. Please come to the stage one by one."

[•———•——•———•]

𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧