The flashes of the paparazzi drones were blinding as Nico Tealeaf stepped out of his luxury speeder. He shielded his face with a manicured hand, trying to push through the throng of reporters that had swarmed the entrance of GoldClick Records.
'God damn it,' Nico thought, his heart pounding in his chest. 'I can't even go to my own label in peace now.'
The GoldClick security team, looking harried and overwhelmed, formed a phalanx to shove the press back. "Clear the way! No comments!"
But the reporters smelled blood. They weren't asking about his hair routine or his workout plan anymore.
"Nico!" a female reporter shouted, thrusting her mic over a guard's shoulder. "Is it true you're not the one writing your songs? Why did you claim you wrote them during your album tour?"
Nico stopped. The nerve. The sheer audacity. He spun around, his meticulously crafted "nice boy" persona shattering in an instant.
"YOU FUCKING PLEB!" Nico screamed, his face contorted with rage. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT SONGWRITING! AND TELL THAT WET RAT NAZIR–"
His manager, pale as a sheet, grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him through the revolving doors. "Shut up! Get inside!"
The security team managed to barricade the glass doors just as the press surged forward.
Outside, the reporter who had asked the question straightened her blazer, looking unruffled.
"You are quite brave to ask him that," a colleague murmured, impressed.
The reporter shrugged, checking her recording. "I'm here for the facts. And the fact is, he gets mad when questioned about his craft. That says more than any PR statement."
"What can we do with it?" a junior reporter asked, holding his own orb.
"We can serve the fact plain," she said with a shark-like smile. "Let the audience fill in the gap."
"Whoa... thank you, Senior," the junior whispered. "Is this why you're getting offered a spot at EMG's news branch?"
The woman just smirked and walked away.
…
CRASH.
A priceless crystalline vase shattered against the wall, sending shards flying across the room. Kex flinched, shielding his face as a piece of ceramic missed him by inches.
"It's too fast, sir!" Kex stammered, backing away.
"Too fast?!" Pidaco roared, his face purple with fury. "Fucking take those evidence videos down, you fuck!"
"We tried!" Kex cried. "But a lot of people already captured the evidence. It's mirrored on a thousand forums. It has spread too far in the net!"
"HOW?!" Pidaco shouted, pacing like a caged animal. "Who is helping that wet rat? There is no way he has fans defending him! I saw it myself, his comments were on fire with hate yesterday! And now? Now it is full of praise! Does that make sense?!"
The lift doors hissed open.
Nico Tealeaf stormed in, his eyes wild. He didn't wait for permission. He marched straight up to Pidaco and grabbed the CEO by his collar.
"You're responsible for this!" Nico spat.
Pidaco didn't even flinch. He sneered, looking down at the young idol with contempt. "Wow. Sudden assault could damage your reputation even further, Nico."
"You told me to say I wrote all of them!" Nico shouted, shaking him.
Pidaco smiled, a cold, venomous expression. "But you did, didn't you? You took the credit. You smiled for the cameras. You accepted the awards."
Nico's mouth twitched. His grip loosened, and he let go, stumbling back weakly. "What do I do now? I only did what you told me."
Pidaco adjusted his suit, smoothing the wrinkles Nico had made. He looked at the dejected boy, a product he had manufactured and was now ready to discard.
"It's not your fault," Pidaco said softly. "Nor is it mine."
He walked toward the massive holographic monitor on the wall and tapped it. The screen filled with the image of Nazir's viral cover video.
"It's his fault," Pidaco hissed.
Nico looked at the screen. He saw Nazir's face; tired, unpolished, ugly. How dare he? Just because he had a sad story, he thought he could drag a star like Nico down to his level?
"Think, Nico," Pidaco whispered, fanning the flame of the boy's entitlement. "Who would the public believe? A handsome, beloved star... or an ugly, jealous wet rat who failed to debut for ten years?"
…
Days bled into a week, and the "GoldClick Drama" was no longer just an industry whisper, it was a roaring wildfire.
Across the Stellarcast network, celebrities were scrambling. Those who had publicly supported Nico Tealeaf or any GoldClick artist suddenly found themselves "too busy" for interviews. Social media managers were working overtime, scrubbing old photos and deleting tweets that linked their clients to the tainted label.
Artists directly under GoldClick were in chaos. New rising stars, panicked by the backlash, announced impromptu press conferences to clarify their stance. Meanwhile, the senior artists, the ones who had debuted in the same era as Nazir felt the very foundation of their careers rattle. They knew. They had always known. And now, the fear that Nazir might release more evidence had them terrified.
Nazir's comms unit was flooded with messages from people who hadn't spoken to him in years.
"Hey Naz! Long time no see! We should catch up!"
"Always believed in you, man. Hope you're doing well."
"Nazir! Have I ever told you how handsome you are?"
Nazir looked at the desperate, sycophantic texts with a hollow expression. He didn't reply. He simply muted his notifications and turned back to his notebook, writing a new melody without a worry in the world.
…
In the comfort of the Kepler estate, Briane Taleini lounged on the sofa, scrolling through her feed with wide eyes. Ratik sat nearby, monitoring the news streams, while Dorian happily munched on a bag of homemade potato chips.
"Uuuww, I can't believe I was fooled by Nico!" Briane groaned, throwing her head back. "I thought he was actually talented! I even put him on my 'Rising Stars' playlist!"
"Well, he is handsome," Dorian said, popping a chip into his mouth. "I guess a face card makes lies believable."
Briane shot him a playful look. "Composer, tell me a lie."
Dorian smirked. "Hmmmm. Every night I turn into a pig with wings."
"Whoa, I believe it!" Briane gasped dramatically.
Her attempt at flirting by implying Dorian was handsome enough to be believed went completely over his head.
"I guess the problem is you being dumb and naive then! Hahahaha!" Dorian laughed.
"COMPOSER!" Briane shouted, throwing a pillow at him.
Dorian dodged it effortlessly, laughing harder.
Ratik watched the interaction, glancing between them and the news feed where a clip of Nico screaming at a reporter played on loop. "It is kind of uncanny to see him shouting like that," she mused. "His image was so... pristine."
"Well, you push too many buttons, you'll see their anger," Dorian said, shrugging. "Honestly, if someone kept badgering me about bad things in public, I think I would be mad too. Everyone has a breaking point."
"And he is young," Briane added, her tone softening slightly. "He hasn't enjoyed the fame for that long. It will put immense pressure on him. Do you think he will keep his composure for tomorrow's press conference?"
Ratik smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression. "Well, a little push at his buttons hopefully will crumble the ivory tower completely."
Briane looked at Ratik, then at Dorian. "I get why Maestro Gil nurtured you. You surround yourself with scary women."
"What are you talking about?" Dorian asked, genuinely confused. "Maestro Gil is a sweet old man."
Briane and Ratik looked at Dorian incredulously.
"You are the only being in the universe that would say that," Ratik stated flatly.
"He literally would make a violinist cry if he found her bowing 'too optimistic'," Briane pointed out. She tapped her wristband and projected a holographic video. "Look. This is an old recording of a rehearsal from fifty years ago."
Dorian watched. On screen, a younger Gil Nothos with fewer cybernetics but the same intense energy was conducting. Suddenly, he stopped. His face went red. He stepped down from his podium, grabbed the heavy music stand, and flung it across the room at the percussion section.
"NOT MY TEMPO!" Gil roared, veins bulging in his neck.
Dorian blinked. "That's..."
"Just a regular practice," Briane finished.
Dorian felt like he was seeing a stranger. The grumpy but doting old man who demanded duets and teased him about awards was apparently a psycho conductor to everyone else.
"I guess I'm special," Dorian muttered, taking another chip.
"Yes," Ratik and Briane said in unison. "You are."
…
Meanwhile, on a fog-choked planet in the far Outer Rims, Aethelgard Academy was conducting its grueling field training for the Solar Majors. The air was thick with moisture and the smell of ozone.
Cassian Rhee slumped against a crate, holding a packet of nutrient paste. He groaned, squeezing the gray sludge onto his tongue. "Aagghh... I can't believe I've become numb to eating these synth foods. It tastes like despair."
Juno Park, sitting across from him on a rock, ate hers without a flinch. Her uniform was mud-stained, her hair tied back in a severe, practical knot. "Bunch of people in the Mid-Rim eat these kind of things every day, Cassian. Have you ever gone to the lower levels of Nexus Prime?"
Cassian wrinkled his nose. "Eww, no. Why would I? That place is a sewer."
"Exactly," Juno said, her voice sharp. "You don't know how good you have it. Just eat it. The next drill will consume a lot of your energy, and I won't let my platoon be ranked last because you passed out from hunger."
Cassian dejectedly shoved another spoonful into his mouth. "You're a tyrant, Park."
Juno ignored him, looking up at the swirling, heavy fog that blanketed the planet. The atmospheric interference was so thick it blocked almost all standard Accord network signals.
'If only that atmosphere didn't block the network,' she thought, a pang of longing hitting her chest. 'I could call and talk to my Dorian right now.'
She steeled herself, finishing her meal in one gulp. 'This three-month training will end sooner or later. We are halfway there. Fighting!'
She stood up, rallying her squad, completely unbeknownst to the fact that trillions of miles away, the universe was already shifting on its axis because of the very boy she missed.
…
The next day, the feeds were dominated by a single event. Nico Tealeaf and his fellow artists, the ones exposed for using Nazir's songs were holding a joint press conference. It was being broadcast live to every corner of the Accord.
In Friton, the Kepler family gathered in the living room. Dorian sat with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. Lyra sat on the floor, clutching a pillow.
In Sela, Ratik watched from her office, a cold cup of brewka in her hand.
In space, aboard her luxury transport, Briane Taleini watched on a large screen.
In his mansion, Gil Nothos watched while sipping tea, his eyes narrowed.
On the screen, Nico sat in the center of a long table, flanked by four other popular idols. They looked solemn, dressed in somber colors, a calculated visual to evoke seriousness and victimhood.
"Hello," Nico opened, his voice steady. He looked from side to side at his colleagues. They nodded. They had agreed to double down. Nico might have been the youngest, but he was the most promising, the face of the counter-attack.
"We are here to address the malicious rumors spreading on the net," Nico said, reading from a teleprompter that was invisible to the audience. "The footage being circulated by the individual known as Nazir Kal is... unfortunate. It is a fabrication. A fake narrative constructed to slander our hard work."
He looked directly into the camera, channeling every ounce of his acting training.
"These accusations of theft were never pushed to legal action because they have no basis in reality. We remained silent because we hoped the truth would be obvious. But now, we must speak."
He leaned forward, delivering the line Pidaco had drilled into him. The trap.
"If this individual is truly confident in his claims... let us end this through legal action. Sue us. Take us to court. We welcome the scrutiny, because we have nothing to hide. Our songs are legally ours."
Nico smiled a small, confident, practiced expression. He knew Nazir had no money. He knew Nazir had signed contracts that gave GoldClick ownership of everything he wrote. In the eyes of the law, GoldClick was untouchable.
The room erupted with the flash of cameras. Reporters began shouting questions.
In her office, Ratik smiled, a predator watching a mouse walk into a snare. "Don't let me down, Mira."
On screen, Nico raised his hand for silence. "I will take questions now."
He scanned the room. He saw a familiar face, the same reporter who had asked the crude question about songwriting yesterday. He felt a surge of arrogance. He would crush her publicly this time.
He pointed at her. "You."
The reporter stood up. She adjusted her glasses, looking completely unfazed by the glare of the room.
"Mira, Independent Press," she stated clearly. "What I want to ask," Mira said, her voice cutting through the expectant silence of the room, "is your song... too high?"
Nico blinked, his confident mask faltering. "Too high?"
"Yes," Mira expounded, pulling a small data chip from her pocket. "There is a new leak just released on the forums. A copy of the recording of the original demo for your hit song, Starlight. I saw the transcript, and it seems that your songs are... well, out of your range."
Nico scoffed, trying to regain control. "What are you talking about? This is absurd."
The other reporters looked confused, glancing between Nico and Mira.
Mira calmly walked over to the side of the room where a secondary holographic screen was set up. She plugged the chip in.
"Let's listen," she said.
The screen flickered to life, playing an audio file.
We hear the raw, unmistakable sound of a studio session. A guide track is being recorded. The voice singing isn't Nico's, it's richer, fuller, and hitting notes that sit comfortably in a high tenor range.
Then, another voice cuts in, Nico's voice.
"Oy! Are you kidding? It's too high! Don't try to sabotage me with this high note!"
The music stops. A meek voice replies softly. "I write what I can sing."
Nico's voice sneers back. "Is this why most of your songs are for female singers, Nazir? Just do the goddamn contract and we'll all be happy. I'll leave to meet the CEO to make sure you sign for another ten years. You better be done when I'm back."
The audio continues, capturing Nazir sighing, then forcing his voice down, recording the guide track again in a lower, strained key to accommodate Nico's range.
The room went dead silent.
Nico's face drained of all color. He lunged forward, trying to grab the remote to disconnect the feed. "Turn it off! It's fake! It's edited!"
As he scrambled, he knocked the holographic emitter off its stand. It smashed onto the floor with a loud crack, the connection severing abruptly.
But the damage was done. The silence was deafening.
Mira stood there, looking at him with pity. "It seems you are right, Nico. All the songs you sing are yours... legally. And this is just another leak. It could be fake too."
She sat down, closing her notebook.
A second of stunned pause hung in the air. Then, the other reporters jumped in, smelling blood.
"Nico! Was that your voice on the tape?"
"Did you knowingly force Nazir Kal to alter his compositions?"
"Is it true you met with the CEO to forcefully extend his contract against his will?"
The faces of the other artists at the table, the ones who had stood in solidarity just moments ago turned sour. They looked mad, confused, and most of all, regretful. They realized they had tied their boats to a sinking ship. They couldn't say anything. To speak now would be to admit complicity.
…
The next morning, the front page of every major news outlet in the Accord featured the same image: Nico Tealeaf, looking disheveled and panicked, standing over a smashed holographic screen.
The scandal spread like a virus. It wasn't just about music anymore; it was about exploitation. The leak had unearthed stories from other trainees, technicians, and ghostwriters who had been silenced by record labels. People began to speak up. The hashtag #BreakTheContract was trending number one.
In Friton, Dorian watched the news feed from his living room, dressed in casual techwear with a simple black mask covering the lower half of his face.
"This is more than a nudge, Ratik," Dorian murmured, scrolling through the deluge of articles.
"I also would never think it would be that effective," Ratik admitted, her voice coming through his earpiece. "The public was ready for a fire; we just provided the spark."
"So," Dorian said, standing up and adjusting his jacket. "Who are we meeting again?"
"To pay for her service," Ratik replied. "We will meet the CEO of EMG. Mar Raila."
Dorian shrugged. "Still means nothing to me."
Ratik sighed. "You are too closed off from the industry for someone who is in the industry."
"I never want to be tied up," Dorian said simply. "The net is there for us to go directly to our listeners. Why do I need the middlemen?"
"Not all artists can produce something that takes Maestro Gil's interest," Ratik countered. "But sometimes, you need the sharks to keep the other sharks away."
"Fair," Dorian conceded.
They arrived at the designated meeting room in a high-end neutral sector hotel. Ratik swiped her card and opened the door.
Inside, sitting on a plush velvet sofa, were two figures.
One was a stunning Gunnossian woman in a shimmering gown, Mar Raila.
The other was a mysterious man, sitting in the shadows.
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**