In the shadows of the grand stage's wings, Darrel Morgan shifted nervously, his eyes darting between Jong-kook and the bustling activity beyond the curtain.
He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.
"How the hell are we supposed to win this thing? Brandon's not one to be underestimated."
Jong-kook's lips curled into a sinister smile, his flamboyant demeanor amplified by the dramatic lighting.
"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I've got things taken care of."
His gaze drifted past Darrel, settling on the judges' platform.
Jong-kook's eyes locked with Gerald Sinclair's, and the two exchanged subtle nods, a silent understanding passing between them.
Seated beside Gerald, Director Annabelle caught the exchange.Her brow furrowed, worry etching lines across her forehead.
She glanced between Jong-kook and Gerald, her mind racing.
'What are those two up to?' she wondered, a knot forming in her stomach.
'I hope this dear nephew of mine can handle whatever they're planning.'
Annabelle's gaze shifted to her other side, where Headmaster Alaric sat, seemingly oblivious to the tension around him.
His wrinkled face was split by a carefree smile, eyes twinkling with their usual mischief.
He hummed softly to himself, apparently without a care in the world.
The Master of Ceremony stepped onto the stage, his voice booming through the grand ballroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed judges, we've come to the final act of tonight's competition. Prepare yourselves for the sensation that's been setting the industry ablaze – Blackstone Music Group's very own '13'!"
A hush fell over the crowd, followed by an electric buzz of whispers and excited murmurs.
Young elites leaned towards each other, eyes wide with curiosity.
"What do you think of his first performance?" a girl in a shimmering gold dress asked her companion.
"I've never heard anything like it."
Her friend nodded vigorously.
"I know! I wonder what he's got planned this time. It's got to be even bigger, right?"
Across the grand ballroom, a group of young men in tailored suits huddled together, their voices low but intense.
"I hope he doesn't sing another ballad, this gala is getting boringggg," one of them said, his eyes darting towards the stage.
Another added excitedly,
"Yeah, maybe he'll perform Shape of You again? The atmosphere on Pierre's yacht was unforgettable!"
Near the judges' table, a cluster of girls whispered excitedly.
"Do you think he'll do a love song?" one asked, her eyes shining.
Her friend shook her head.
"No way. He's got to shake things up. He is the final performer after all?"
"Whatever it is," another girl added, "I bet it's going to be unforgettable."
The Master of Ceremony raised his hands, calling for silence. The crowd's chatter died down, replaced by an electric tension.
"Without further ado, please welcome to the stage... Brandon Blackstone, '13'!"
As the lights dimmed and the first notes of a hip hop beat began to fill the air, the audience collectively held its breath, waiting to see what Brandon, the enigmatic '13', had in store for them next.
As the hip-hop beat filled the grand ballroom, Gerald Sinclair's eyes narrowed.
He caught Jong-kook's gaze and gave a subtle nod. Jong-kook's lips curled into a smirk as he swiftly dragged his hand across his throat, signaling to a staff member on the opposite side wing of the stage.
The staff member's eyes widened in recognition.
He pressed a finger to his earpiece and whispered urgently,
"Cut the music and the mics. Now."
The young elites in the audience began to bob their heads to the catchy rhythm.
Energy pulsed through the crowd as they anticipated Brandon's performance. The air crackled with excitement, and whispers of anticipation rippled through the audience.
Eyes were glued to the stage, waiting for the moment when the rising star would make his appearance.
Suddenly, the music cut off abruptly.
The abrupt silence was jarring, like a bucket of ice water dumped over the crowd's collective head.
Confused murmurs began to rise as people looked around, trying to figure out what had happened to disrupt the show.
"What just happened?" a young man in a designer suit asked, his brow furrowed.
A girl in a sparkling dress leaned towards her friend.
"Did the sound system crash?"
"No way," her companion replied, shaking her head.
"This is NOA. They don't make mistakes like that."
Near the front, a group of students exchanged worried glances.
"Is this part of the performance?" one asked hesitantly.
Another scoffed, "If it is, it's a weird way to start."
The whispers grew louder as the silence stretched on. The audience shifted uncomfortably, their excitement turning to confusion and frustration.
"Come on, what's the holdup?" someone called out from the back.
A wave of nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, quickly replaced by more urgent questions.
"Is Brandon okay?"
"Why isn't anyone doing anything?"
As the tension in the room built, all eyes remained fixed on the stage, waiting to see how Brandon would handle this unexpected turn of events.
The Master of Ceremony hurried back onto the stage, his face flushed with embarrassment. He raised his hands, trying to calm the increasingly restless crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience. We're experiencing some technical difficulties and can't seem to get the sound system back online. Please bear with us while we work to resolve this issue."
His words only seemed to fuel the audience's frustration. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the grand ballroom.
Gerald Sinclair saw his opportunity.
A smug smile crept across his face as he leaned towards the microphone on the judges' table.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Frowning, he tapped the mic, then stood up abruptly.
"Since the last participant can't perform," he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the crowd's chatter,
"I suggest we choose the winner from the two who have performed. Maybe BMG can try again next year."
The audience of NOA elites reacted with a mix of shock and outrage.
"That's not fair!" a young woman in a designer gown called out.
"We want to see 13 perform!" another shouted from the back.
The grand ballroom erupted into heated debates. Students argued with each other, some defending the decision to move on, others insisting on waiting for the technical issues to be resolved.
Amidst the chaos, a group of students in the front row glanced around, suddenly realizing something was amiss.
"Hey, where's Elise?" one of them asked, scanning the crowd.
Another chimed in, "Come to think of it, I don't see Pierre or any of Brandon's usual crew either."