Brandon's voice thundered through the ballroom as he launched into the final verses:
"Count up the bands stickin' up
No rubber band is big enough
Chain is so heavy, can't pick it up
Came with the gang, a myriad"
The crowd surged forward, hands reaching out towards Brandon as if trying to touch greatness itself. The energy in the room was electric, pulsing with each beat of the music.
"I seen your whip, hilarious
Where is my roof? Mysterious
My whip from Fast & Furious
Curtains with yellow interior"
Brandon's BMG crew flanked him, moving in perfect sync. The audience was a sea of bobbing heads and swaying bodies, completely lost in the music.
As he transitioned into the next part, Brandon's voice took on a triumphant tone:
"I get the commas, period
Covered in ice, Regalia
I'm at the top of the pyramid
Bitch, I'm a star, I'm Sirius"
The mention of Regalia sent a ripple of through Elise, her jewelry catching the light as she danced.
"We came to play, are you serious?
Came with the gang, a myriad
Came with the gang, a myriad
Came with the BMG crew"
The final lines were a battle cry. The BMG staff, standing behind Brandon on stage and scattered throughout the crowd, raised their fists in unison.
The audience joined in, chanting "BMG crew" with fervor.
"BMG! BMG!! BMG!!!"
The grand ballroom had transformed into the most epic party anyone had ever seen. The air was thick with excitement, sweat, and the lingering mist of champagne. Strobe lights cut through the darkness, illuminating faces contorted in pure joy and abandon.
At the peak of the hype, Brandon raised the mic to his lips, his chest heaving from the exertion of his performance.
Sweat glistened on his brow, catching the light of the strobes.
"One of the judges said hip-hop was boring earlier," he shouted, his voice carrying over the roar of the crowd.
"ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"
The audience erupted in cheers, their voices a thunderous affirmation.
"13! 13!! 13!!!"
"AHHH~ THAT WAS EPIC!"
"MARRY ME!!!"
Brandon's eyes gleamed with triumph as he swept his arm across the stage.
"I am 13 and this is my BMG crew!"
He turned, pointing dramatically to the left of the grand ballroom. The crowd's gaze followed, drawn to the massive glass walls that lined that side of the room.
Suddenly, the night sky beyond the glass exploded into light.
Fireworks burst forth, painting the darkness with brilliant hues of red, gold, and blue. The pyrotechnic display was a mesmerizing spectacle, each explosion more dazzling than the last.
As the fireworks reached their crescendo, a massive "BMG" appeared in the air, spelled out in shimmering, golden sparks.
The letters hung there, suspended against the backdrop of the night sky, a glowing testament to Blackstone Music Group's triumph.
The audience gasped in collective awe, their faces illuminated by the radiant display outside.
As the fireworks faded, leaving a lingering glow in the sky, the grand ballroom buzzed with excitement. The young elites of Noblesse Oblige Academy couldn't contain their enthusiasm.
"Holy shit, THAT WAS EPIC!"
A tall blonde guy in a designer suit exclaimed, grabbing his friend's shoulder.
His friend, still bobbing his head to the lingering beat, grinned.
"Dude, I've never heard anything like it! Have you ever heard hip-hop like that?!"
Nearby, a group of girls huddled together, their eyes wide with amazement.
"Oh my god, that 13 guy is so hot," one of them squealed.
"I heard he's Bailey's brother! Anyone in the same course of her? I bet Bailey can link us up."
"Forget that," another chimed in.
"Did you hear swag in his voice? I got chills!"
"I know, right?" she replied, her eyes still fixed on the stage.
The Master of Ceremony stepped onto the stage, tapping the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please-"
But his words were drowned out by the continued cheers and chatter of the crowd.
"BMG! BMG! BMG!"
The chant started somewhere in the back and quickly spread through the ballroom.
The MC tried again, raising his voice.
"Please, let's bring it down a notch-"
But the excitement showed no signs of dying down. The young elites of NOA, usually so composed and proper, were caught up in the moment, riding the high of Brandon's performance.
As the crowd continued to chant, a sudden hush fell over the grand ballroom.
Headmaster Alaric had risen from his seat, his diminutive figure somehow commanding an overwhelming presence. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, now blazed with an intensity that silenced even the most exuberant revelers.
For a brief moment, the air crackled with an unseen energy, and on stage Brandon felt a chill run down his spine.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the aura of power dissipated.
Headmaster Alaric's face softened into its familiar, grandfatherly expression.
"Now, now, my dear fireflies," he said, his voice gentle yet carrying effortlessly across the room.
"Let's not forget our manners. We have a competition to judge, after all."
The crowd settled, their excitement simmering just beneath the surface.
The Master of Ceremony, looking relieved, stepped forward once more.
"Thank you, Headmaster. Now, let's hear from our esteemed judges. Director Annabelle, your thoughts on BMG's performance?"
Director Annabelle adjusted her glasses, her piercing gaze sweeping across the stage.
"Well," she began, her tone measured, "it seems Mr. Blackstone has decided to rewrite the rulebook on an entire genre. The integration of autotune into rap with a multi-layered beat that feels almost alive is... intriguing."
She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"The use of contrasting tempos within a single track is particularly noteworthy. It creates a sense of tension and release in a more youthful and hip manner. Quite... unexpected in this genre."
Headmaster Alaric nodded, stroking his wispy beard.
"Ah, yes," he chimed in, his voice taking on a whimsical tone.
"I don't quite understand the lyrics but that was nothing like I've ever heard! Catchy to say the least."
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling once more.
"But what truly tickles my fancy is how the music gives the listeners strength and confidence, a skip in one's step… A modern day swagger if you may."
Gerald Sinclair leaned forward, his face contorted with barely contained rage.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the judges' table.
"Unexpected? Intriguing? Are we listening to the same thing?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.
"This... noise is an affront to music itself!"
He turned to face the crowd, gesturing wildly with his hands.
"Can anyone even understand what he's saying? It's all mumbled gibberish! And don't get me started on that autotune. You don't even know how to use that right."
Director Annabelle cleared her throat, the sound cutting through Gerald's tirade like a knife.
She fixed him with a steely gaze, her eyes narrowing behind her thin-rimmed glasses.
"Hmph! Mr. Sinclair," she began, her voice cool and measured,
"I believe you should be the last person to comment on the use of autotune or on lyrics."
A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd.
Gerald's face flushed red, but Annabelle continued undeterred.
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze unflinching.
"Glass houses, Mr. Sinclair. Glass houses."
Gerald sputtered, struggling to form a coherent response.
The crowd's murmur grew louder, punctuated by a few scattered laughs.