The lights of the Rheesion Hotel auditorium swirled, bathing the stage in hues of deep purple and gold.
"And now," the amplified voice of the announcer bood, "to present the awards for Songwriter and Producer of the Year, please welco the previous winners, Hakeal and Lorro!"
Two figures walked onto the stage to polite applause. Hakeal, a tall, elegant woman in a shimring gown, and Lorro, a stout man with a jovial smile, waved to the crowd. They reached the podium, the microphone rising to et them.
"You know, Hakeal," Lorro started, leaning on the podium. "They say writing a song is like capturing lightning in a bottle."
"That's right, Lorro," Hakeal replied smoothly. "But producing it? That's building the power plant to let that lightning light up the whole city."
Lorro chuckled. "Exactly. Tonight, we honor the architects and the engineers of our emotions. The minds that turn a simple lody into a galactic anthem."
"So, without further ado," Hakeal said, opening the first envelope. "For Songwriter of the Year, the nominees are..."
The massive screen behind them flashed with images and nas.
Dorian's na was last. The cara cut to him. He sat perfectly still, his polished mask reflecting the stage lights, looking the picture of calm, enigmatic confidence. Behind the tal, however, his eyes were wide, and his heart was doing gymnastics in his chest.
Hakeal pulled the card out. "And the Gilded Crescendo goes to... Mira Tane!"
The crowd erupted. Dorian imdiately began to applaud, a genuine smile hidden behind his mask. He wasn't a sore loser. He knew he was a newcor, an outsider. To win against veterans in his first year would have been a miracle.
As Mira Tane walked up to give her tearful speech, Dorian felt a hand gently cover his own.
"I am proud of you," Ratik whispered, squeezing his hand.
Dorian leaned in, chuckling softly. "I'm okay, Ratik. Really. It's not like I'm devastated or anything."
Ratik didn't let go. She just held his hand, a silent, steady anchor in the chaotic sea of the awards show. Dorian smiled again behind his mask, grateful for her support.
After the speech concluded, Hakeal and Lorro returned to the mic.
"Whew," Lorro joked, checking his watch. "That was a heartfelt speech. Let's hope the Producer of the Year keeps it a little shorter, or we'll be here until the next cycle."
The audience laughed politely.
"Alright," Hakeal said. "Let's see who built the best power plant this year. The nominees for Producer of the Year are..."
Again, the screen flashed. The nas were largely different from the songwriters, reflecting the specialized nature of the industry. But once again, the last na on the list was Percival.
Lorro took the second envelope. He ripped it open with a flourish. He looked at the card, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Uww," he murmured into the mic. "A first-ti winner. This is going to be interesting."
He looked up, beaming. "PERCIVAL!!"
BAM.
A spotlight slamd down onto Dorian's table, blinding him for a second.
He didn't freeze. He didn't gasp. He stood up with a smooth, fluid motion that looked practiced but was actually pure autopilot. He buttoned his jacket and began to walk toward the stage, his stride long and confident, the "horsewalk" of a man who owned the room.
To the millions watching, he looked like a being of steel and mystery.
Little did they know, his shirt was already sticking to his back. He was sweating bullets.
He ascended the stairs. Hakeal smiled, handing him the heavy, golden trophy. "Congratulations," she said, reaching out to pat him on the back.
Dorian, terrified she would feel his sweat-soaked suit, swiveled his body smoothly to the side, ostensibly to face the crowd, dodging the pat entirely.
Lorro stepped forward, shaking his hand vigorously. "Well done, son!" He raised his other hand to clap Dorian on the shoulder.
Again, Dorian shifted his weight, turning to hold the trophy up to the light, causing Lorro's hand to land on empty air.
He stood center stage, the applause washing over him like a physical wave. He held the Gilded Crescendo in his hand. It was heavy. He looked out at the sea of faces; the sharks, the legends, the elite.
Finally, things sank in. This was real. This was huge.
And it was terrifying.
Dorian stood at the podium, the microphone looming in front of his mask. He glanced down at the holographic prompter embedded in the stage floor. It was already ticking down. 45 seconds. That was definitely shorter than Mira Tane's ti. Was it because he was a rookie? Or because he was "anonymous"?
Never mind, he thought, his heart pounding against his ribs. Just get it out there.
He leaned into the mic. "Uhh, hi," he said, his modulated voice echoing slightly. He cleared his throat. "Wow. This thing is heavier than it looks. Um... I didn't prepare a speech because, honestly, looking at the other nominees, I didn't think I'd be standing here."
He gripped the podium, grounding himself. "I just want to thank the people who believed in when I was... well, nobody. To my family... you know who you are. You are the reason I create. To Maestro Gil Nothos, for giving a stage when I didn't deserve one. To Rita Bralare, for trusting with your voice. To Briane Taleini and Juno Park... thank you for bringing my notes to life. And to everyone else–"
The prompter flashed red. TI'S UP. The orchestra began to play the swell of the exit music.
"Oh, okay, I'm getting played off," Dorian laughed nervously. "Thanks, everyone!"
He turned to leave, walking a few steps, then froze. His eyes went wide behind the mask. He spun around, practically sprinting back to the microphone just as the music swelled louder.
"Wait! Wait!" he shouted over the violins. "I forgot the most important person! My manager, Ratik! I love you! Hopefully, you still want to work with after this! That's it! I'm gonna go leave and get drunk now! Bye!"
He waved frantically and practically ran off the stage.
…
[Back at the Table]
Ratik sat with her face buried in her hands, shaking her head slowly. But beneath her palms, a small smile was fighting its way out.
Across the room, Gil Nothos threw his head back and laughed, slapping his knee. "Hahahaha! Look at him! He is showing himself as a complete rookie!"
Rita Bralare, sitting elegantly beside him with a glass of wine, raised an eyebrow. "He is a rookie, Gil. Are you forgetting that?"
"What can I say?" Gil grinned, wiping a tear from his eye. "My disciple has too much skill to be called a rookie."
"Hoooh?" Rita scoffed, turning to him. "Since when is he your disciple? If anything, the fact that he used the Stradus makes him more my disciple."
"Nonsense!" Gil retorted. "He plays the piano like a Nothos!"
"He composed a ballad, Gil! That is pure Bralare!"
They continued bickering, the old friends enjoying the spectacle.
[The Galactic Net - Stellarcast & Echoflow]
Unbeknownst to Dorian, his panicked, candid nature had just turned him from a mysterious, intimidating figure into a viral sensation.
Trend: #PercivalPanic Trend: #ManagerRatik Trend: #GetDrunkBye
: "OMG did you see Percival run back to the mic?? 'I love you Ratik' 😭 He's so wholeso! I thought he was gonna be this dark, brooding edgelord because of the mask, but he's just a nervous bean!"
: "Honestly? Refreshing. In an industry of polished, PR-scripted robots, seeing soone actually forget to thank their manager and panic about it is the most human thing I've seen at the Gilded Crescendo in years."
: "NEW LORE DROP: Percival is awkward. He is so Elliott coded. He is definitely Elliott's type of person. Only an awkward romantic act like that."
: "Did he say he's gonna get drunk? Sa, Percival. Sa."
: [GIF of Dorian dodging the back-pats on stage] " avoiding my responsibilities like:"
Sohow, the combination of his mysterious, masked appearance and his goofy, unfiltered speech had created a new, irresistible persona. He wasn't just the genius composer anymore; he was the relatable genius. The internet didn't just admire him; they loved him.
…
Dorian returned to his table, the golden award clutched in his hand. As he sat down, Ratik leaned over, her expression a mix of amusent and professional exasperation.
"What was that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry," Dorian mumbled, loosening his tie slightly. "I was so nervous I forgot to say thanks to you."
"Then say it to in person," Ratik countered. "There is no need to make such a fuss on a galactic broadcast."
"No can do," Dorian said, grinning behind his mask. "You helped a lot. You deserve the credit." He held up the trophy. "Tadaa! It's actually not that heavy."
Ratik took the award, her fingers tracing the intricate filigree. She looked at it with a quiet reverence.
"I know you're probably used to seeing these," Dorian said, "since Maestro Gil has rows of them collecting dust..."
"No," Ratik cut him off gently. She looked up at him, her eyes warm. "It is special. Because it is yours. Congratulations, Composer."
Dorian smiled behind his mask. He looked across the vast room and spotted Maestro Gil and Rita Bralare seated at a VIP table near the front. Gil caught his eye, raising his glass in a silent toast, a rare look of genuine pride on his face. Dorian raised his own drink and nodded respectfully.
The award show rolled on. More categories ca and went, the energy in the room building towards the final awards. Then, it was ti for Best New Artist.
Lorin Dolla walked onto the stage. He looked impeccably styled, but his smile seed a little tighter than usual.
"Good evening," Lorin said, his voice smooth. "Last year, I stood here with my heart in my throat, just happy to be invited. Winning Best New Artist changed my life. It is a promise to the galaxy that you are not just a flash in the pan, but a star on the rise. Tonight, we pass that torch."
He turned to the screen. "The nominees are..."
The nas flashed by. And then:
Juno Park - Skyfall
The cara shifted to Juno's table. She looked poised and elegant in a sharp red suit. Beside her, Apex Guild Master Alexei Park, a man known for crushing rebel uprisings with his bare hands, was cheering like a doting soccer dad, waving a small flag with Juno's face on it. Juno, blushing furiously, was trying to calm him down.
A few more nominees were announced, and then the cara returned to Lorin. He opened the envelope.
"And the Gilded Crescendo goes to..." He paused for dramatic effect. "Juno Park!"
The cara caught her shocked face, her hand flying to her mouth. But it was nothing compared to Alexei Park's reaction. The Guild Master leaped to his feet, letting out a roar of triumph that was probably audible from orbit, hugging the person next to him, who looked terrified.
Juno quickly composed herself, straightened her jacket, and walked to the stage with a calm, athletic grace. She accepted the award from Lorin, shaking his hand firmly.
She stepped to the mic. Unlike Dorian, she was prepared.
"Thank you," she said, her voice clear and strong. "This is an incredible honor. I want to thank the Academy for this recognition. To my father, for his... enthusiastic support." The crowd laughed as the cara cut to Alexei, who was beaming. "To Maestro Gil Nothos, for your guidance. And to the songwriter and producer who trusted with this anthem, Percival. This song demanded strength, and you gave the space to find it. Thank you."
Dorian watched from his table, smiling. 'She's always prepared,' he thought. 'Typical Juno.'
She finished her speech and left the stage to thunderous applause. The show cut to a comrcial break.
Instead of going backstage imdiately, Juno made a beeline for Dorian's table. She reached him and, without hesitation, leaned down and hugged him.
"This is because of you, Composer," she whispered in his ear. "Thanks."
"It's all yours," Dorian said, patting her back awkwardly. "Congrats, Juno."
"No, you too," she said, pulling back with a dazzling smile. She glanced back at her own table. "Anyway, it seems my father is pouting that I didn't co to him first. I'll go back."
"Alright, bye," Dorian waved.
As Juno walked away, Ratik leaned in, narrowing her eyes. "You need to train on your scandal managent, Dorian. Do not go too far with Juno if you do not want to go public yet. The caras are everywhere."
"It's a celebration, Ratik," Dorian said, reaching for his drink. "We are ant to enjoy it. Hehe."
…
Lieutenant Verza Zal stood in the cold, sterile light of the BSO control room, her eyes locked on a bank of staticky monitors. She was in the middle of a high-stakes operation: the capture of a suspected rebellion sparker.
On the screens, deep in the darkest, most lawless sectors of the lower levels, Ula, the massive Neman revolutionary, was running for his life. He moved with surprising speed for his size, vanishing into the labyrinth of rusted pipes and crumbling concrete.
"Control," a Legion trooper's voice crackled over the comms, breathless and tense. "We are losing visual at the junctions. The cams down here are dark. Destroyed by the residents. Possibility of the suspect moving to a different level?"
"Negative on the upper level sweep," another squad leader reported. "No sign of him."
"Still on route," a third voice chid in from the lower depths, sounding nervous.
Verza assessed the situation. The lower levels were a hornet's nest. Pushing further without intel was suicide. "Co back," she ordered, her voice clipped and professional. "There is no need for our troops to be that deep. It is too hostile. Tactical retreat."
"Yes, ma'am," the Legion commanders acknowledged.
As the white-armored squads began to pull back, the eyes of the lower-level residents followed them from the shadows, hostile, waiting, hating.
"We are being too soft on them, sir," one trooper muttered to his commander as they marched out.
"It is not ours to decide," the commander replied sharply. "We follow command."
"OBEY AND PROSPER!" the trooper shouted, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
[Nexon HQ]
Verza Zal dropped her commlink onto the console. "Ready the interrogation room," she ordered, her face a mask of cold determination. "Call the BSO Intelligence Branch. Get a Level 5 Interrogator. We need the Zynar to talk clearly."
Her second-in-command, Ret Breind, nodded sharply. "Consider it done, Lieutenant."
Down in the holding cells, two Legion troopers were dragging a prisoner down the hallway. It was Jakor.
Unlike Ula, the lanky Zynar hadn't run. He had stayed behind, making a chaotic scene, drawing the fire and the attention to buy Ula the precious seconds he needed to escape. He was a ss; bruised, bleeding, one of his three-jointed arms hanging at an odd angle.
But he was laughing. A wet, wheezing chuckle.
"Heh," Jakor spat, blood flecking his lips. "You got the wrong guy! How are you going to face your supervisor with this half-assed job, huh? Arresting a simple rchant?"
The Legion troopers ignored him, marching forward with chanical precision.
Jakor's head lolled. He was hanging by a thread of consciousness. His vision blurred. 'Ula... you better be gone,' he thought, before the darkness finally took him.
…
The applause thundered through the auditorium as the winner for Song of the Year was announced.
It was not Percival.
The award went to a legendary ballad by an industry titan. Dorian clapped along with everyone else, feeling a strange sense of relief. He hadn't won one of the "Big Three" categories, but being nominated for two of them in the very first year of his career was already an insane achievent.
"So," Dorian said, turning to Ratik as the show began to wind down. "Shall we go ho? I feel like celebrating with so real food."
"No, no," Ratik said, checking her datapad. "Not yet. There is the after-party."
Dorian groaned, slumping in his chair. "Aawww, no thanks. I want to drink at ho. It's more relaxing that way. I have my special wine."
Ratik reached over and began to massage his tense shoulders. "And you also need to broaden your network, Dorian. It is for your own career. There are people there you need to et. Co on. You can do it."
Dorian groaned again. "Aargh, fine. But the mont I feel like going ho, we go ho. No argunts."
Ratik smiled, a victorious glint in her eye. "Deal."
*A/N*
~Read Advance Chapter and Support on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
*A/N*
User Comments
0 comments from readers