Brandon stood tall on the stage, his posture rigid with defiance. As Gerald's words echoed through the hall, Brandon's eyes never left the older man's face.
His gaze was steely, unflinching in the face of the threat.
Slowly, deliberately, Brandon raised his hand.
With a fluid motion, he beckoned Gerald forward, his fingers curling in a clear "bring it on" gesture.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a barely perceptible smirk, a silent challenge that spoke volumes.
His upper lip curled almost imperceptibly, a subtle expression of disgust that was impossible to miss for those paying attention.
He tilted his chin up, looking down his nose at Gerald, his body language screaming disdain for the older man and everything he represented.
As the tension between Brandon and Gerald crackled through the air, Headmaster Alaric leaned towards Director Annabelle, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"My, my," he chuckled softly, his voice barely audible above the murmurs of the crowd.
"Your nephew certainly knows how to make an entrance, doesn't he?"
Annabelle's lips tightened, her gaze fixed on Brandon.
"Hmph, young, reckless and impulsive."
Alaric's eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Hah~ On the contraire, this is exactly the persona he has to take with the angle he's playing… He's no doubt Victor's child."
Annabelle allowed herself a small smile.
"Brandon's certainly inherited his father's cunning. And his mother's stubbornness."
"A formidable combination," Alaric mused.
"You should be proud, Annabelle. It takes guts to stand up to the Sinclairs like that."
Annabelle sighed, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Hmph! I worry he doesn't fully grasp the consequences of his actions."
Alaric laughed, a low, rumbling sound.
"Oh, I think he knows exactly what he's doing. The boy talks a big game, that's for certain. But let's see how he handles the voting phase, shall we? That's where the real test begins."
Annabelle's fingers tightened on the arm of her chair.
"That's precisely what worries me. The boy may have thrown down the gauntlet, but the Sinclairs have been playing this game for generations."
Back on stage, the Master of Ceremony cleared his throat, drawing attention back to the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's move on with our performances. Up next, representing Morgan Records, please welcome... The Dolls!"
Suddenly, a pulsing beat filled the air, and five young girls skip onto stage, waving and smiling to the fans.
As the music swelled, The Dolls sprang into action.
Their movements were sharp, synchronized to perfection as they launched into a high-energy dance routine. Each girl was dressed in a variation of a schoolgirl uniform, but with a provocative twist – cropped tops, short skirts, and knee-high socks.
The lead singer, a petite blonde with a saccharine voice, stepped forward:
"Boy, you know you want me
I'm the doll you can't resist
Come and play with me tonight
I'll be your favorite toy"
The other four girls joined in for the chorus, their voices blending in sugary-sweet harmony:
"We're The Dolls, we'll rock your world
Wind us up and watch us twirl
Pretty faces, perfect curls
We're every boy's dream girls"
The girls continued their performance, spinning and strutting across the stage. Their dance moves were increasingly suggestive, drawing whistles and cheers from some audience members while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
As The Dolls continued their performance, Brandon watched from the wings, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
Beside him, Jessie shifted nervously, her gaze flicking between the stage and Brandon's face.
"So, what do you think?" Jessie asked, her voice barely audible above the music.
"Are you nervous?"
Brandon shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"Not really. This is more or less an exact copy of Sinclair's group. Same formula, different packaging."
Jessie nodded, her brow furrowing.
"You're right. But they're pretty good no?."
She paused, then added, "Oh, did you remember to bring your jewelry? It could really make a statement out there."
Brandon's smile widened.
"I'm saving that for the finals. No need to show all our cards just yet."
Jessie opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, her expression conflicted. Brandon noticed her hesitation and turned to face her fully.
"Don't worry," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers.
"We've got this."
On stage, The Dolls struck their final pose, the audience erupted into applause.
The girls, breathless and flushed, beamed at the crowd, blowing kisses and waving as they exited the stage.
Headmaster Alaric leaned forward in his seat, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"My, my," he chuckled, adjusting his glasses.
"What a delightful performance! Such energy, such... vigor. It reminds me of my younger days when—"
Director Annabelle cleared her throat sharply, cutting him off.
"While their choreography was certainly... enthusiastic," she said, her tone crisp,
"I found the overall performance lacking in substance. The vocals were mediocre at best, and the lyrics were simplistic and repetitive."
Gerald Sinclair's face reddened as he glared at Annabelle.
"Nonsense!" he boomed, pounding his fist on the table.
"The Dolls represent everything that's great about modern pop music. They're catchy, they're sexy, and they know how to work a crowd. This is exactly what the public wants!"
Alaric nodded sagely, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"He He He~ Oh, I couldn't agree more, Gerald. They certainly know how to... captivate an audience."
Annabelle's lips thinned into a tight line.
"Perhaps," she said coolly, "but shouldn't we be looking for more than just visual appeal? What about musicality, originality, artistic merit?"
Gerald scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.
"Artistic merit doesn't sell records, Annabelle. The Dolls understand what this industry is really about – giving the people what they want."
After Gerald's sales pitch, the music critics leaned forward, their pens poised over notepads. The first to speak was the middle-aged man with thick-rimmed glasses.
"Well," he began, his voice dripping with enthusiasm that seemed oddly forced, "I must say, The Dolls were absolutely captivating. Their energy was infectious, and their choreography was flawless. Truly a testament to Morgan Records' commitment to quality entertainment."
Brandon's eyebrows raised slightly as he listened from the wings.
He exchanged a glance with Jessie, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.
Next up was a portly man with a receding hairline and a garish bow tie. He cleared his throat before speaking, his eyes darting briefly towards Gerald Sinclair.
"I couldn't agree more," he gushed.
"The Dolls represent everything that's right with the modern music industry. Their catchy hooks and visually stunning performance are exactly what today's audiences crave. It's refreshing to see a label like Morgan Records embracing this winning formula."
Brandon's eyes narrowed as he listened.
The critics' enthusiasm felt almost rehearsed.
The final critic, a younger woman, seemed to hesitate before speaking. she glanced nervously at her colleagues, then at Gerald, before finally offering her opinion.
"Yes, well," she began, her voice lacking the certainty of the others,
"The Dolls certainly know how to put on a show. Their... uh, their energy is undeniable, and their look is very marketable. I'm sure they'll do well in the current climate."
As she finished speaking, Brandon noticed Gerald Sinclair nodding approvingly, a smug smile playing on his lips.