Reborn Scumbag: Jizzing to the Top of the Music Empire and Hollywood Chapter 228 222: Living Legend

The next morning, Leon woke up when the alarm went off.

The glaring sunlight shone through the floor-to-ceiling window, hitting Ariana's half-exposed butt.

Slap—Leon raised his hand and patted it lightly. "Ti to get up, Little A."

"No." Ariana squinted her eyes and curled up under the quilt, cooing, "I want to lie here all day."

"You forgot we have work today. Don't you want to participate in the docuntary shooting?" Leon said, "The CBS crew should be waiting for us."

Hearing this, Ariana jumped up from the bed imdiately. "Of course I want to participate!"

"Put your clothes on first..." Leon pointed to the window.

Because the positive energy in their bodies had accumulated for a long ti, last night they rolled in the sheets hurriedly without even fully closing the curtains.

"Yah!"

Ariana quickly bent down and covered her front with her hands, two pretty pink blushes appearing on her cheeks.

After arriving at Apocalypse Music and preparing a little, the two took the assistants and got into the CBS comrcial van, driving into Brownsville.

Ariana stepped on her pink high heels, the heels wobbling on the uneven road.

Because she was in a hurry to date Leon last night, she didn't have ti to wear a bra, and later rolled in the sheets due to deep affection.

This morning she could only temporarily wear a loose white T-shirt from Leon's wardrobe, tucking the corner into her hot pants.

She tried to integrate herself into this strange environnt, but her every move—frowning and scanning the trash cans on the street, subconsciously clutching her handbag, and even the slight tiptoeing when walking—was releasing a ssage: This doesn't seem to be the place for .

"The sll here is so strange..."

She frowned and muttered in a low voice, trying to find a word to describe it, but found her vocabulary reserve completely insufficient.

The slls of weed, alcohol, garbage, and even feces intertwined in the air.

"Welco to Brownsville, Little A." Leon grinned. "This is the sll of freedom. You've slled the copper stink of Wall Street; this is the sll of the poor man's Arican Dream."

They turned a corner. A group of young black n in loose jerseys were playing basketball, their sneakers making harsh screeching sounds rubbing against the ground.

The CBS reporter asked: "Mr. Leon, heard you used to play here often?"

"Who told you that?" Leon subconsciously wanted to ask back, but swallowed the words.

There are no less than a hundred versions of his experiences before becoming famous circulating on the internet. As long as they are written exaggeratedly and bizarrely enough, there will be clicks.

"Yes, if I hadn't beco a singer, maybe I would have entered the NBA draft." When saying these words, he looked serious, his face calm and heart steady.

"..." The CBS reporter stared at his height of 1.8 ters (5'11"), not knowing what to say for a mont. "I fully believe that you can succeed wherever you go."

Noticing the arrival of the filming team, the black teenagers on the court stopped their movents one after another, holding basketballs and whispering.

Although Leon covered his head with the hood of his hoodie, he was still recognized.

"OMG, look, isn't that Leon?" A tall and thin boy shouted to his companions, dancing with joy.

"Sht... this is definitely Street Jesus!"

"I might mistake President Barack, but I can't mistake him!"

"Boys, how's it going?"

Leon signaled the caraman to follow, walked towards the court, and high-fived the black boys one by one with a smile.

"Sa as before, my dad is still in prison, my mom has to work three jobs a day..." A young man wearing a baseball cap shrugged.

Leon patted his shoulder to interrupt his casting. He could already imagine what the other party wanted to say next.

Any form of selling misery is paving the way for money. "Don't worry, look at your size, you are as strong as a calf. In two years, you will definitely be able to participate in the NBA draft, and then your mom won't have to work." Leon said.

The black boy froze on the spot, pouting his thick lips, widening his eyes, and looking down at his figure.

He is seventeen years old this year. Unsurprisingly, his height can only be fixed at 1.7 ters (5'7"). The point is that he weighs only a little over 50 kilograms, thin as a rib.

Playing in the NBA is a bit too magical; being played as a ball by a group of big black guys is more realistic.

"Let's go to the next place..." Leon turned around and saw the CBS reporter staring at him eagerly, light in his eyes.

He imdiately understood what the other party was thinking.

It is not news for famous rappers to be generous to give back to their hotowns, or even scatter money on the street; they do this often.

Although he didn't want to spend a cent on this group of little blacks, considering the impact of the docuntary on his persona, he still reached into his pocket.

Taking out a thick stack of $20 bills, the little blacks imdiately grinned, revealing two rows of big white teeth, lasers in their eyes.

"I don't know what to say..."

"Sir, you are the real street savior."

Under everyone's expectant gaze, Leon counted out six bills and gave one to each person. "Let mom not work so hard tonight; take her out for a good al."

"What..." The little blacks were dumbfounded instantly, holding the bills and freezing on the spot, not knowing what to say.

$20 can only afford a fast-food restaurant even in a slum like Brownsville.

Leon turned and left with the filming team. After walking a few steps, he turned around facing the cara directly. "I know what everyone is thinking. Listen, I will never be stingy with the community."

"But these children can't have too much money at once, otherwise no one can say for sure if they will turn around and give the money to the drug dealer on the corner."

"Suffering is the best dicine for young people's growth; it is the only way from boy to man."

The leftist reporter nodded while listening, his brows gradually unfolding. "You did the right thing!"

Imdiately after, Leon quickly painted a pie (made a promise). "I want to contribute to their dreams. Imdiately, I will have soone install two brand new basketball hoops here to help these kids fulfill their dream of reaching the NBA."

"Pfft." Hearing this, even Bonnie on the side couldn't hold it back. "They will definitely be grateful to you."

1.7 ters tall and wanting to play in the NBA?

For so many years, miracles like Nate Robinson have only appeared once.

"You know, I never forgot where I ca from. Brownsville raised ; I have to give back to this place." Leon looked serious. "Everyone must be hungry. There is a nice restaurant nearby; I miss the taste there very much."

The restaurant is an inconspicuous small shabby shop with a yellowed "Open" sign on the window.

There are a few cracks in the corner of the glass. The sll of pastrami and fried chicken wings floated out from inside, mixed with the sll of oil smoke and moldy old wood.

The pick-up window is covered by three layers of thick bulletproof glass, leaving only a very small window for picking up food.

The owner is an old black man with a wrinkled face; people call him Old Martin.

In Brownsville, he is considered a rare honest and simple ngga.

Before Leon beca famous, sotis just by playing and singing a few songs in this restaurant, he could get a free beef bacon burger.

Seeing Leon push the door in, Old Martin smiled, wrinkles on his face stacking together, like an old servant welcoming the returning knight master.

"Leon, the pride of Brownsville!" Old Martin wiped his hands while welcoming him. "Bonnie! Long ti no see, girl. Oh my God, why are you dressed like this? I still like seeing you in a lace dress; your butt seems to be perkier~"

"Shut up, bastard." Bonnie rolled her eyes, switching to the spicy style in Brownsville in a second.

"Haha, you are still so hot~"

Leon pulled a chair and sat down casually, as if returning to his own living room. "Serve us so signature dishes, the usual rules." Ariana sat down cautiously and looked around.

There were several faded photos hanging on the wall. One of them was Leon with long hair and stubble, holding a broken wooden guitar standing on the street.

There were also a few lines of crooked handwriting next to it: "Savior of Brownsville, 2010."

She couldn't help asking: "Did you really grow up here?"

"Of course." Leon leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands on his chest, and looked straight at the lens.

The food was served quickly: a plate of oily pastrami with fries, and a few pieces of golden fried chicken wings, the skin so crispy that you could hear the crunch when biting down.

Ariana carefully picked up a piece of chicken and put it into her mouth. After chewing a few tis, her eyes lit up: "This is really good!"

Old Martin wiped his hands with a towel and said with a smile, "That's why my restaurant has been rated as [Most Popular Restaurant among Gangs] for ten consecutive years. Many young nggas with dreams struggled in prison for ten years, and the first thing they did after regaining freedom was to taste my pastrami and big sausage!"

"How does it compare to those Michelin restaurants you often go to?" Leon raised his eyebrows, with a bit of teasing in his tone.

"Don't be smug." Ariana rolled her eyes at him, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help rising. "Still a bit worse than my mom's cooking."

Just then, the door was pushed open violently. A group of gang mbers wearing red bandanas entered.

Gesturing like playing an accordion while shouting loudly.

"Fck~ I was checked by the cops on the road today. My heart almost stopped beating." The fat ngga's volu got louder and louder. "Fortunately, those coke packs weren't found, or I would have pulled my gun and killed him!"

"Bro, I advised you long ago not to engage in those things. Tis have changed." The thin ngga shook his head repeatedly. "You don't earn as much as those btches who spread their legs. Going on like this, you'll eat prison food like your brother."

"I have no other way to go, do you understand, ngga?"

"We should go beg T-Ray again. Rapping makes money faster than robbing."

"That guy won't give us a chance. He is already a millionaire. Now we don't even have the qualification to talk to him..."

The filming team imdiately realized that the program effect was coming, and quickly turned the cara to lock on this group of gang mbers.

"Fck, where did you white trash co from?" The fat ngga pushed the lens away viciously. "Take this damn cara away, or I'll feed you bullets!"

The caraman swallowed nervously and backed away, just unwilling to move the lens away.

"Damn ass (idiot), I think you really want to die."

The fat ngga reached for his crotch. The reporter stood up in fright, frequently winking at Leon.

"Cough cough..."

At the mont of tension, Leon signaled Jorge beside him not to be impulsive.

Covering his mouth and coughing twice, imdiately attracting the attention of the group.

"Kid, where are you from?" The fat ngga clamored, "Take off that damn hat. Are you cosplaying Eminem? Where is that xican from? Is he cosplaying Machete?"

"Doesn't this white chick look familiar?" The thin ngga stared at Bonnie and reminded.

"Familiar? Do I look like your mother?" Bonnie rolled her eyes and calmly lit a cigarette. She was long used to such scenes.

"What did you say, btch!" The thin ngga lost his mind from provocation, his right hand also reaching for his crotch. Old Martin blocked between the two groups. Just as he was about to explain, Leon stood up, pulled down his hat, and walked in front of the group of black boys. "What? Real or fake?"

"Leon? That bas... at the subway station..." The fat ngga wanted to say sothing more but was imdiately interrupted by his companion. "This is a misunderstanding, Bro. Didn't expect a big shot like you to return to this rat nest."

T-Ray beca the richest ngga in Brownsville relying on the success of the Surface Rap program. George of Chester is the most powerful gang leader in the entire community.

And these two are now Leon's henchn. Every young person living here knows that as long as they get his help, they will soon rise to prominence.

Seeing the situation ease, the reporter quickly trotted to the fat ngga and handed over the microphone. "Hello sir, I am a reporter from CBS TV, shooting a docuntary revealing Street Jesus. Convenient to chat?"

"This..." The fat ngga looked hesitant, until he saw Leon nod did he feel relieved.

Completely opening the chatterbox, rhyming while rubbing hand gestures. "I don't know how to describe his greatness. There are two posters pasted by my bed; one is Martin Luther King, and the other is Street Jesus."

"Do young people living here all do this?"

"Of course, he is a hero here; we call him a living legend!"

"Wow..." The reporter nodded and exclaid in admiration.

After walking out of the restaurant, the filming team ca to the famous graffiti wall in front of the church.

A huge graffiti of Leon was printed on it. Because it appeared in the Take to Church MV, it beca a check-in point for nearby residents.

The photographer held an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "Mr. Leon, please stand in front of that graffiti wall and put on a deep expression. We want to capture the psychological changes of your return to the old place."

Leon shrugged helplessly but still cooperated and stood there.

Hands in pockets, head slightly lowered, leaning against the huge graffiti with a cigarette in his mouth, puffing smoke.

Ariana couldn't help covering her mouth and snickering: "Are you acting in a tragedy?"

"Can't help it; the audience likes to watch this." Leon whispered, "Later I might have to tell a story about how I almost starved to death in childhood."

Sure enough, the reporter shouted: "Leon, convenient to talk about your childhood? Fans are very interested."

"Alright." Leon cleared his throat and started to improvise nonsense. "When I was ten, there wasn't even a piece of bread at ho. My mom asked to rummage for food in the trash can. As a result, I dug out a dead rat and had to fight with wild dogs for it. I took a bite and almost vomited..."

Bonnie rolled a big eye. The filming team listened quite fascinatedly. "Can't believe such tragic things happen in our country..."

Ariana tilted her head showing a confused expression, asking in a low voice: "Didn't you say your mom would make delicious chocolate for you personally?"

Leon was speechless for a mont, having nothing to say in reply.

Since the graffiti wall beca a check-in point, in order to do more business, many streetwalkers moved their positions here, less than 50 ters away from the holy church.

Noticing the arrival of the filming team, several streetwalkers leaning against the corner smoking ca over.

Seeing Leon in the crowd, they imdiately shook their butts and winked.

"Sorry ladies, I'm busy right now." Leon waved his hand. "Buy you a drink next ti."

"Everyone here knows him?" Ariana widened her eyes and asked the assistant next to her in a low voice.

The streetwalkers looked at Leon as if they wished they could swallow him alive.

Although Bonnie didn't do flesh business, she worked in a strip club before, doing borderline business.

The streetwalkers here are not unfamiliar with her, and they greet each other when eting on the street at midnight.

Since clinging to Leon, they watched Bonnie first appear in MVs, beco a star assistant, and then an internet celebrity with over 200,000 YouTube fans.

Completely escaping from the bottom mire and counterattacking.

Bonnie shrugged. "Didn't you see those hot chicks in Take to Church and Cardi's MVs? Half of them are Brownsville locals."

The filming team moved forward. At the end of the alley, a holess old man wearing a tattered jacket was humming a song holding a guitar.

Seeing Leon, he stood up abruptly. "Street Jesus, do you still rember ?"

"Of course." Leon is not unfamiliar with every holess person here.

In the past days of receiving relief als, this old man in front of him appeared in the queue every day, never absent.

"Life is like a dream, isn't it... I dreamt yesterday that you returned to Brownsville and bought a bottle of whiskey."

"I'll send you a real bottle later." Leon patted his shoulder and turned to continue walking.

The filming crew gradually realized that Leon exists here not only as an idol, just like Eminem to Detroit.

He has beco a spiritual belief, a cultural symbol, bringing the illusion of hope to the community lingering in despair.

Under Leon's leadership, the filming crew visited almost the entire Brownsville. The last stop they were going to was T-Ray's Black Panther Records, filming the whole process of the birth of Take to Church.

In the business van, Bonnie leaned over with her phone. "Look how lively Blue Bird (Twitter) is. Will Smith just posted ntioning you."

"What's wrong?"

"See for yourself."

Leon opened Blue Bird. The eye-catching headline of the number one hot search was Will Smith blasting Leon.

Ten minutes ago, he attacked Leon and the The Rap of Arica program group with fierce wording, angrily spraying the other party for inputting wrong values to Arican teenagers, which is a serious distortion and blasphemy of rap music and culture.

"Is this guy crazy?" Will himself also started as a rapper; there was no intersection between the two.

Leon couldn't figure out the reason why the other party fired at him no matter what.

"Maybe because of his child." Bonnie reminded.

"Jaden?"

"That's right. There are rumors that the kid beca a fan of a female contestant in The Rap of Arica, but this contestant was a man a year ago." Bonnie smiled and said, "It is said that Jaden secretly wearing won's clothing at ho was discovered by Will. Of course, this is just grapevine news from tabloid dia."