Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Chapter 25: The Performance of a Lifetime

"Mr. Grant Brook, I think you overestimate yourself—and underestimate both Her Majesty and me. Who do you think you are, to assume we'd seek revenge over a mere refusal?"

"Oh, I get it. You no longer find me useful, so now you see my requests as a burden," Diana said coldly. "But instead of honesty, you chose to feign respect. That's not only a terrible decision; it's disgraceful behavior."

"From this moment on, Grant Brook, you are no friend of mine."

"Well said!" Martin's voice cut through, as he turned to Brook with a challenging smile. "Mr. Grant Brook, since you think so little of me and assume my music isn't worth your production, let's make a bet."

"No, refuse him, walk away! Haven't I humiliated myself enough already?" Grant's "Rational" side was screaming.

But it was no use.

Brook's "Reckless" side, full of pride, held its ground. "What's the bet?"

"Right here, I'll perform my music for everyone. If most of them applaud and approve, then you'll get down on all fours and bark like a dog. If I lose, I'll do the same and admit my music is trash."

For God's sake, refuse this! Don't agree to this ridiculous wager! Rational was on the verge of insanity.

But Reckless held firm, and Grant Brook's face twisted with a scornful smile. He looked down at Martin, mocking him. "You overestimate yourself, kid. Fine, I accept."

"You're sure you can pull this off?" whispered Nancy, who had somehow ended up right beside Martin, concerned. After all, this wasn't just about Martin's reputation; Diana's honor was on the line too.

"Trust me," Martin replied, steady and confident.

Not far away, William clenched and unclenched his fists, over and over, muttering under his breath, "I almost want us to lose—just so Martin can teach that man a lesson on behalf of my mother. I...I..."

"What?" Harry asked, catching his brother's murmuring.

"Shut up!" William snapped, glaring at him.

Martin approached Diana with an easy stride and asked softly, "Lady Diana, may I borrow your stage?"

Diana, having full confidence in him after hearing his music before, gave him an encouraging look and replied, "Go on, my little knight."

Martin moved to the center of the hall, stepping up to the microphone.

"Hello, everyone. Some of you may not be aware of the bet between Mr. Grant Brook and me, so allow me to explain."

"Mr. Brook and I have agreed that if my performance can win the applause and approval of the majority here, he'll get down on all fours and bark like a dog. So—" he paused, glancing over the audience with a slight smile, "I hope that if you enjoy what you hear, you won't hesitate to clap."

Martin closed his eyes, appearing to gather his emotions. In reality, he was selecting the perfect piece (or, rather, choosing which piece to borrow).

This was his first public performance. For a perfectionist daemonic musician, a "first time" could have no flaws. It had to be unforgettable.

…

"Got it. This one!"

Martin's eyes gleamed with excitement.

The chosen piece was a grand, majestic song from the realm of gods and demons—a melody created by the divine races to honor their Supreme Deity, who had been asleep for ten thousand years. The composition was awe-inspiring and beautiful. As a daemon, even though this song originated from an enemy, he had no qualms about learning it, as long as it was beautiful.

Martin stood silent on stage for a long moment, making no sound.

This unnerved Grant Brook, who started to feel more at ease. He sneered, "Hmph, I knew it. How could a kid produce any decent music? Just look at him, already backing down!"

The crowd began to murmur softly, their anticipation tinged with doubt.

Then, Martin opened his eyes, and in his bright blue gaze, a spark of brilliance ignited.

A low, resonant hum emerged from his throat, projected through the microphone.

Invisible waves of magic accompanied the sound, weaving through the air.

The melody was not loud, but it was deep and soothing, evoking images of pastoral fields, the fresh scent of grass, the earthy smell of soil, the warm aroma of freshly baked bread, and the smooth taste of homebrewed corn whiskey.

The audience's minds floated on the music, easing their spirits and calming their restless hearts.

Then, the hum shifted, becoming quicker and sharper, a metallic edge hinting at urgency—a sound like clashing swords, the neigh of battle horses. The music painted a vivid image: enemies approaching, breaking the peace of the pastoral scene.

The sky turned dark with heavy clouds pressing down, stifling breaths, filling the air with impending dread.

The expressions in the audience shifted, becoming somber and tense. Some held their chests, as though feeling an ache from an invisible weight.

The music's urgency intensified, sounding fiercer, capturing the surge of defiance as men rose to defend their homes. They bid farewell to their families, gathering like streams from cities and villages to form an unstoppable tide.

On the hills and fields, wave after wave, they charged fearlessly at the invaders.

The tone climbed, stirring a feeling of exaltation. The battle reached a fever pitch, both sides suffering heavy losses.

Martin's voice rose, spanning five octaves into an ethereal, delicate high note, like a taut string about to snap.

The audience's tension rose along with it, hanging on the edge of release.

And finally, that string broke. Martin's voice transcended human limits, reaching a rarefied pitch, releasing an emotional flood that washed over everyone, leaving them spent yet fulfilled.

The enemies fell back, defeated by the courage of the warriors. A ray of golden sunlight pierced the dark clouds, spilling down from the sky.

The tone softened into a somber melody, mourning the fallen. Gravestones dotted the earth, and in the distance, the voices of the elderly and women weeping could be heard.

But sorrow fades, and the music turned bright and clear once more, celebrating life. Golden wheat fields swayed in the breeze, children ran joyously, and smoke rose from village hearths as families prepared for supper.

The music came to an abrupt end.

The hall fell into a profound silence. A few people, sensing something amiss, touched their cheeks only to find tears streaming down their faces.

Diana's face was also wet with tears. Her sensitivity made her especially susceptible to music that carried such depth of emotion.

Then, she began to clap, her applause filled with fervor.

Nancy followed, clapping with equal intensity. She had initially thought her nephew was simply a talented young musician. But now, she realized this piece was nothing short of timeless—a future classic!

One by one, applause erupted from every corner, coalescing into a thunderous wave that filled the hall. Some were so moved they whistled, cheered, and shouted, utterly abandoning all etiquette.

And then, Martin spoke.

[•———•——•———•]

𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

✨ • 𝗘𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀: 𝙂𝙚𝙩 𝟲𝟬+ 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚.