The Media Circus
Los Angeles. The Next Morning.
The newspapers hit the driveways with a thud. The ink was fresh, but the smell of money was stronger.
The California Herald led the charge. Since they were partners with Zane's Golden Dawn Entertainment, their "review" read more like a love letter.
Headline:AMERICA'S GOT TALENT: A STAGE FOR THE EXTRAORDINARY!
"Are you different?" the article asked. "No! You are born extraordinary! This summer, we want you to shine!"
Zane sat in his office, reading the paper with a raised eyebrow. He took a sip of his coffee, trying not to laugh.
'Good grief,' Zane thought, shaking his head. 'I paid them for a review, and they gave me a sermon. American journalists really have no shame. If the price is right, they'd report that the President can walk on water.'
But the Herald wasn't alone. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
New York State TV: "The Great Beginning of National Talent!"
West Coast Youth Daily: "You Deserve This Show!"
The Washington Post: "Society is too restless. Young people should read books, not watch stunts."
The Chicago Tabloid: "A Gimmick! Just Grandstanding!"
Praise. Criticism. It didn't matter. They were talking. And talking meant ratings.
Then, the sharks started circling.
Universal Pictures and NBC—the giants—saw blood in the water. They released their own statement in the Global Times.
"America's Got Talent was successful," the article sneered, "but it is just the beginning. NBC is launching a brand-new talent show soon. With our global influence, we will surpass the copycats! Wait and see!"
Zane threw the paper into the trash bin.
'Shameless,' Zane thought, a grin tugging at his lips. 'They call me a copycat while they are actively photocopying my business model. I love it.'
The fact that the giants were attacking him proved one thing: They were scared.
The Morning Walk
A Park in Los Angeles.
The morning air was crisp. Marshall Mathers—known to the world as Eminem—pulled his hoodie up.
He walked with his head down. He was used to being invisible. Or worse, being the "white trash" kid people crossed the street to avoid.
But today? The air felt different.
People weren't looking away. They were staring. Pointing. Whispering.
"Is that him?""The guy from TV?""The rapper with the crazy eyes?"
Eminem kept walking, his heart beating a little faster. He wasn't sure if he should run or fight.
"Hi!"
A voice piped up. Eminem stopped.
A girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, with a bouncy ponytail and bright eyes, ran right up to him. She was out of breath.
"Excuse me," she gasped, wringing her hands nervously. "Are you Eminem? The one who sang My Name Is?"
Eminem blinked. He looked around. No one was laughing. No one was throwing things.
"Uh..." Eminem stammered. He straightened up, trying to look cool. "Yeah. I'm Eminem. What's up?"
"It's really you!" the girl squealed, jumping up and down. "Can I have your autograph? I really, really like your song!"
'An autograph?'
Eminem froze. No one had ever asked him for an autograph. Not once.
He reached into his pocket. He had carried a marker pen since he was 16, just hoping for this day. He pulled it out, his hand trembling slightly.
"Sure," Eminem said, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his tough face. "Why not?"
He signed her white beret. EMINEM.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Katy Perry," the girl beamed. "You can call me Katy!"
Eminem wrote a little blessing next to his name.
'Katy Perry,' he thought. 'Cute kid.'
He didn't know the future. He didn't know that this little girl in the beret would grow up to be a global pop superstar. He didn't know that years later, they would stand on the same stage at the Billboard Music Awards—him as the Best Male Artist, her as the Best New Artist.
But right now? She was just his first fan.
"Thank you, Eminem!" Katy hugged him quickly, then ran off, giggling.
The Crowd
The dam broke.
Once Katy left, the other people in the park realized it was safe to approach.
"Hi! You're Eminem!"
"Man, your rap is awesome!"
"You're as good as any Black rapper! Go win the show!"
They swarmed him. Kids, adults, joggers. They all wanted a piece of him.
Eminem signed napkins. He signed arms. He signed foreheads.
He looked at the crowd. For years, he had been a failure. A joke. A "wannabe."
But as he looked at their smiling faces, hearing their encouragement, Eminem felt a lump in his throat. His eyes grew hot and moist.
'They are listening,' he realized, the ink staining his fingers. 'They are finally listening.'
He wasn't invisible anymore. He was a star.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check My New Story : Dimensional Chat Group: Surviving Stranger Things
Huge Content: Read 300+ chapters ahead.+ Access to all my Fanfics Chapters.
Fast Updates: I release 10 chapters daily.
Link: https://www.patreon.com/c/kapa69
100 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter.