Brandon stood, chest heaving, fists still clenched.
Sweat dripped from his brow, his heart pounding in his ears as he glared down at Jong-kook's crumpled body. The man's face was a mask of pain, one eye swollen shut, blood trickling from his split lip.
Suddenly, the store's entrance burst open.
Five men in matching black suits stormed in, their expressions fierce as they took in the sight before them—Brandon standing tall over their defeated boss.
"Boss!"
The leader barked, fury twisting his face.
His hands clenched into fists.
"GET HIM!"
They rushed forward as a unit, but froze mid-step, eyes widening as cold steel pressed against the back of their necks.
Brandon allowed himself a smirk, his adrenaline still surging as he watched his men move with precise coordination.
Each one had a gun pressed to the back of the attackers' necks, and the would-be rescuers froze, fear overtaking rage.
"Gentlemen, I'd rethink that."
Max's voice cut through the tension, smooth as glass but edged with steel
The bodyguards remained motionless, their hands slowly rising in surrender.
Brandon strode past Max and the bodyguards, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The adrenaline from the fight still coursed through his veins, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in days.
"Have them clean up their own mess."
Brandon ordered, his voice cold. He barely spared a glance at Jong-kook as he strode past Max, adrenaline still thrumming in his veins.
"Yes, sir," Max replied.
Gordon hurried after Brandon, concern etched on his face.
"Young Master, are you alright?"
Brandon took a long, slow breath, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. His fists uncurled, and he flexed his fingers, feeling the tingle of adrenaline fade into a strange sense of calm.
"You know what, Gordon?" he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
"I feel... good. Really good," Brandon said, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise at his own admission.
His grin widened as he stretched his arms, letting the leftover energy flow through his limbs.
'So much for there not being novel cliches in real life huh…'
Brandon chuckled in his mind as he swept away the unpleasant encounter.
As they stepped out onto the street, a soulful voice cut through the noise of the bustling city.
He turned, his eyes landing on an obese female busker on the side walk singing into a mic-stand.
Her fingers danced across the strings of a battered guitar as she sang:
"Love's a rollercoaster, baby
Up and down we go
Hold on tight, don't let go
'Cause love's a wild ride, don't you know"
The lyrics were simple, even cliché, but Brandon found himself intrigued.
Her voice was rich and smooth, but something about the way she held herself felt restrained, like she was holding back.
She wasn't the kind of singer that would normally catch your eye—heavyset and dressed in worn clothes—but the raw emotion in her voice was undeniable.
'I'm pretty sure she has the pipes to blow everyone away, but why's she holding back? Is it the song? or…'
He furrowed his brow, pieces clicking into place like a puzzle.
The manufactured pop groups, the lip-syncing, the emphasis on visual spectacle over substance - it all suddenly made sense.
'It's not that this world lacks talent... But the industry... They've been pushing manufactured crap because acts fully dependent on them are easier to control, plus this way they get monopoly on who gets famous and who doesn't…'
Brandon delved into his thoughts, 'Could it be that they've been doing this for so long that they've stunted this world's artistic progress? Reducing the standards of good music to crooning at best so their profits won't be affected by the need for actual talent?'
As the woman's final note faded, Brandon found himself moving towards the obese female busker,
"That was good," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.
"Have you ever considered becoming a professional singer?"
The woman looked up, startled. Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head, avoiding Brandon's gaze.
"Oh... someone like me could never be a star," she mumbled, her fingers nervously plucking at her guitar strings.
Brandon's brow furrowed.
"If my observation and instincts served me right. I'm sure you have a much wider vocal range no? Why sing such a… lack luster song?"
The woman hesitated, biting her lip.
"I... I don't know. There aren't any songs like that anymore. I don't think people would want to hear it."
"You're wrong," Brandon said, his voice firm but kind. "They just don't know what they're missing."
"Listen, I run a record label. Would you consider auditioning? I think I might be able to make your dreams come true."
The woman's eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing the brief flicker of hope.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
Brandon held up his hands.
"No joke, I promise."
She studied him for a long moment, uncertainty written across her face.
Brandon took a deep breath.
"Look, I know this might sound crazy, but... would you mind if I borrowed your guitar and mic for a second? I'd like to show you something."
The woman hesitated, her grip on the guitar tightening slightly.
Brandon could see the doubt in the woman's eyes, but he held her gaze steadily, willing her to trust him.
"You're not some kind of scammer, are you?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Brandon shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Trust me this one time. What have you got to lose? Worst case, you get a free show."
The woman eyed him for a long moment, then let out a resigned sigh.
"Alright, fine. But if this is some kind of trick..."
She began to struggle with the guitar strap, which was snugly wrapped around her large frame.
Brandon watched as she twisted and turned, her face reddening with exertion as she tried to maneuver the instrument off her body.
After a few moments of awkward shifting, she finally managed to free herself from the guitar's embrace. She held it out to Brandon, her eyes still wary but with a glimmer of curiosity.
"The stage is yours," she said, gesturing to the mic-stand in front of her.
Brandon took the guitar, feeling its weight in his hands. He ran his fingers along the worn wood, noting the scratches and dings that spoke of years of use and love.
Brandon positioned himself in front of the mic stand, adjusting the guitar strap over his shoulder.
He took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of passersby on him. The woman who had been singing watched him intently, curiosity evident in her gaze.
He strummed a few chords, getting a feel for the guitar's tone. Then, with a slight nod to himself, he began to play the opening notes.
As the familiar melody filled the air, Brandon closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.
When he opened his mouth to sing, his rich, velvety voice carried across the busy street.
"Birds flying high~ You know how I feel~"
Heads turned as Brandon's powerful vocals soared.
"Sun in the sky~ You know hooOW I feeeel~"
Passersby slowed their pace, some stopping altogether to listen. The woman's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth falling open slightly.
"Breezeeee driftin' on by ~ You know how I feeel~"
Brandon poured his heart into the performance, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings with practiced ease. He swayed gently with the rhythm, lost in the music.
As he reached the chorus, his voice swelled with emotion, filling the street with the song's triumphant message.
"It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new liiffe for meee..."
"And I'm feeeling goooood~"
"III am feeling goood~"
The woman who had handed him the guitar stared, wide-eyed, as Brandon's voice wrapped around the melody, transforming the simple sidewalk into a stage.