From American Internet Celebrity to God Among Men

103: Chapter 103 The Coronation of the New King and the Beginning of ZeroThe red carpet of the Teen Choice Awards tonight was as scorching as the entrance to purgatory. The storm of silver-white flashbulbs threatened to tear the night sky apart, and the fans’ screams transformed into a sound wave with physical impact. When the stretched black limousine pulled to a steady stop and Alex and Taylor stepped out side by side, this clamor reached a frenzied peak.

Alex chose an outfit that looked understated but was meticulous in every detail: a hand-tailored Italian deep navy blue suit, the fabric shimmering with a subtle pearlescent luster under the lights, paired with a simple white cotton T-shirt, and polished Oxford shoes. There were no exaggerated accessories, just a minimalist mechanical watch on his wrist. Taylor wore a moon-like silver slip dress, the hem light and airy, flowing with fine stardust as she moved, with a very thin diamond necklace as the only adornment. Standing together, they didn’t deliberately pose in an intimate manner, just naturally held hands, nodding and smiling at the media and fans on both sides. That relaxed yet powerful confidence, combined with their natural rapport, created an unspoken aura that instantly stole all the oxygen.

Twenty meters away, the three members of ”Urban Rhythm” were trying their best to pull out all the stops for the cameras. They were wearing the trendiest studded leather jackets and ripped jeans, their hair styled into flamboyant shapes with gel, and layers of metal chains stacked on their bodies. But by comparison, their movements seemed forced, their smiles a bit stiff, as if they were playing the role of ”cool” rather than truly possessing it. When Alex and Taylor passed by, the sound wave tilted significantly, like a tide changing course. The group’s lead singer, Jamal Dean, struggled to maintain his smile, which nearly cracked at one point; he quickly turned his head to say something to his teammates, only to be drowned out by even more fanatical cheers.

The backstage was another dimension. The door to Alex’s private lounge was tightly shut, and the room was filled with the calm and efficiency of a pre-war command post.

”Final audio check complete, independent encrypted link stable, backup power online. Physical interfaces have been treated for anti-interference.” The voice of the Organization D technician came through the encrypted earpiece, calm and without a ripple.

Hank had just finished the last patrol of the movement lines and reported to Alex in a low voice: ”Their two assistants tried to approach our equipment area under the guise of ’delivering comfort items,’ but were ’politely’ asked to leave by Rex. The lounge passage is completely under control.”

Marcus was staring at three screens, real-time data streams reflecting ghostly light on his lenses: ”The peak of the online live stream has broken our previous global broadcast record, and the topic’s popularity occupies three of the top five Twitter trends. The Universal Music CEO just arrived at the VIP box, and as for Northrop... a director-level old man came, and his face doesn’t look too good.” He paused and added, ”’Uptown Funk’ just took the weekly crown for radio airplay on the Billboard charts this week, and the public welfare impact report for ’See You Again’ was cited by The New York Times column, calling it the ’cultural soothing agent of the year.’ This background information is being cleverly embedded into the setup for the live reporting by our partner media.”

Taylor sat in front of the makeup mirror, eyes closed, letting the makeup artist finish the final touches. Her breathing was long and steady, as if she were not about to participate in a high-profile showdown, but a routine rehearsal. Alex leaned against the wall nearby, slowly moving his shoulders and finger joints, adjusting his body to the most sensitive and relaxed state. The newly acquired 【Information Reception Filtering (Passive)】 ability operated silently, combing the faint noise from outside the door, the sound of the air conditioner, and even his own heartbeat into a clear, non-intrusive background sound, allowing his attention to focus like a laser beam on the coming moment.

The showdown was scheduled for the middle of the awards ceremony, as a climax to bridge the past and the future.

”Urban Rhythm” went first. They spared no expense on the stage effects: dry ice poured down like a waterfall, colorful lasers cut through the air, and six masked backup dancers performed high-difficulty mechanical dance moves like marionettes. Jamal Dean rose slowly on the lift, holding a diamond-encrusted microphone, and opened with an accelerated rap. Their new song ”Street Echo” was a typical new-century pop-rap hybrid, with complex arrangements, dazzling synthesizer tones, and strong rhythms. Jamal ran, jumped, and interacted with the backup dancers on stage, stirring up the atmosphere. To be fair, this was a competent, even lively commercial performance that fit the teenagers’ intuitive understanding of ”cool” and ”hype.” When the performance ended, there was warm applause and quite a few cheers.

Jamal panted, took the microphone from the host, sweat glistening on his forehead. He pulled a signature roguish grin and said to the camera: ”Yeah! This is real energy, the pulse from the street! Music doesn’t need all that pretentious nonsense, it just needs feeling, you know? Feeling!” He deliberately emphasized the last few words, his gaze seemingly glancing toward the side curtain, the provocation evident.

The stage darkened, and the crew quickly and silently cleared the set.

When the lights came on again, the scene had completely changed. No dry ice, no lasers, no backup dancers. In the center of the stage, a beam of pure, water-like overhead light enveloped a black grand piano. Taylor sat on the piano bench, her silver dress seeming to absorb all the light, her head slightly bowed, her profile quiet and firm in the light and shadow. As her fingertips fell, a string of clear and slightly melancholic piano arpeggios flowed out, like a stream under moonlight, instantly cleansing the residual heat and clamor.

Immediately after, another beam of cooler-toned light hit the left side of the stage, illuminating Alex and the simple equipment stand in front of him: a master keyboard, a controller, and a standing microphone. He looked up, his gaze calmly scanning the audience, and pressed a button on the controller.

”Thump—!”

An extremely heavy 808 kick drum tone with the raw texture of analog circuitry hit everyone’s chest like a giant’s heartbeat, without warning! The tearing contrast with the gentle piano caused a stifled gasp to ripple through the venue. Immediately, distorted synthesizer effects, as if from a bad signal, cut in like a saw blade, outlining the anxiety of the digital age.

In this contradictory and tension-filled soundscape, Taylor’s voice rose, clear and transparent, yet containing unquestionable power:

”I’ve been reading books of old, The legends and the myths...”

She was singing about the distant admiration for epic heroes, the lyrics vivid and visual. Alex’s harmony joined in the second verse, deep and warm, like the earth supporting the flowing stream, building a solid emotional foundation.

In the pre-chorus, the melodic line began to climb, and Taylor’s voice injected a hint of urgency and longing. Alex layered a lingering pad long tone on the keyboard, creating a vast sense of space.

Then, all the accumulated power was released in the chorus:

”But I’m not looking for a superhero or a fairytale bliss...”

The rhythm became more firm and powerful, and Taylor’s singing was full of declarative affirmation. Alex’s harmony intertwined perfectly with it, and the fusion of their voices created a wonderful chemical reaction, both an individual narrative and a superposition of resonance.

The bridge was the stroke of genius of the entire performance. The piano sound stopped abruptly, leaving only the cold and rhythmic electronic beat. Taylor stood up from the piano, and Alex also left the equipment stand, both walking toward the only intersecting light beam in the center of the stage. They were very close, their eyes locked.

”I want something just like this—!”

The ”dangerous” sound effect Alex designed—like electronic tearing sounds of metal deforming and reassembling, glass shattering and congealing—erupted precisely at this moment. But this noise was not chaos, but a highly controlled emotional release, a sound effect of inner barriers being broken. Taylor’s voice was not only not drowned out, but pierced through the curtain of sound like a sharp blade, the pitch and emotion rising continuously, carrying a kind of painful clarity and final reconciliation. Alex followed closely with a stable and supportive harmony, like a lighthouse that never capsizes in a storm.

The whole audience fell into a hypnotic silence. Young people might not be able to fully parse the philosophical debate about ”mythical expectations” vs. ”ordinary reality” in the lyrics, but the emotional impact delivered by the music itself—that huge tension of longing to be understood, refusing to be kidnapped by false fantasies, and finally embracing real connection—hit them directly. On many young faces, excitement was gradually replaced by a deeper moving emotion.

When the final chorus reappeared with a more magnificent arrangement, and Taylor and Alex stood back-to-back, their voices harmoniously converging into a torrent, the venue finally erupted. Applause, screams, and even cheers mixed with sobs, and the sound wave completely engulfed the venue. This reaction was completely different from the lively applause given to ”Urban Rhythm” earlier; it was heavier, more engaged, and carried the tremor of emotional release.

The performance ended, and the lights returned to normal.

[part:gemini-3.0-flash]

Alex and Taylor panted slightly, fine beads of sweat breaking out on their foreheads. They looked at each other and smiled, a smile filled with the tacit understanding and relief of having accomplished something great together, before bowing side-by-side to the audience.

The host practically ran onto the stage, his voice trembling with excitement: ”My God... that was... an incredible performance! Now, the decisive moment has arrived—the live voting channel is open! You have sixty seconds. Pick up your voting devices and choose your ’Best Live Performance’!”

On the massive screen, two colored bar charts representing ’Urban Rhythm’ and ’Alex & Taylor’ began to jump. In the first few seconds, ’Urban Rhythm’ held a slight lead thanks to their first-mover advantage and established fan base. Jamal clenched his fists offstage. However, after ten seconds, the blue ’Alex & Taylor’ bar seemed to be injected with rocket fuel, beginning an unstoppable vertical surge! At twenty seconds, they overtook! At thirty seconds, the gap widened! Finally, the sixty-second countdown ended, and the score froze cruelly and clearly:

Alex & Taylor: 81%

Urban Rhythm: 19%

A crushing victory.

The camera panned over the Urban Rhythm trio; the smile on Jamal’s face had completely vanished, replaced by a gray defeat mixed with shock, resentment, and bewilderment. The two members beside him kept their heads down, avoiding the camera. In the area where the Northrop directors were seated, the old man’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip ink as he quietly rose and left his seat.

The host loudly announced the results and invited Alex and Taylor back to the center of the stage. ”A soul-stirring victory! Alex, Taylor, what would you like to say to the audience who supported you and about this duel at this moment?”

Taylor gracefully handed the microphone to Alex. Alex took it and wiped the sweat from his brow. His smile appeared sincere and bright under the close-up shot, his tone as relaxed as if he were chatting with a friend: ”First of all, thank you to every friend who cast a precious vote tonight. This song, ’Something Just Like This,’ is for us about letting go of some unrealistic, grand expectations to cherish and embrace the real, perhaps imperfect, but incredibly precious people and things right in front of us. Being able to stand here tonight and give the first full performance of this song to you with Taylor is, in itself, the most perfect ’Something Just Like This.’ So, thank you, Taylor,” he turned his head to look at the girl beside him, his gaze soft and focused, ”thank you to the amazing team behind me, and even more, thank you to all of you who are willing to listen to the Voice of Truth.”

He didn’t mention his opponents, the bet, or even the victory. However, this speech—effortless and focused on the essence of music and emotional connection—was consistent with his performance just now, which was full of artistic ambition and emotional depth, invisibly elevating the situation to another level. Thunderous, continuous applause erupted from the audience.

Backstage, the atmosphere was completely different. Marcus came forward holding a tablet, his face a mix of excitement and mockery: ”Boss, they really are trying to play dirty! The other side’s manager sent an email saying that the homepage pinned promotion ’requires coordination between multiple internal departments’ and ’might involve platform rules.’ They’re trying to delay or even renege on the bet.”

Alex took the tablet and scanned the carefully worded, evasive email, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He said to Marcus, ”Take high-definition screenshots of the live voting results, the highlights of our officially authorized performance video, and the correspondence records where Attorney Lauren confirmed the terms of the bet with them previously. Package them into a concise evidence bundle. Don’t add any commentary; just send it directly to the top ten entertainment news editorial departments and the live reporters from MTV and Billboard. They’ll come up with their own headlines.”

He paused and added, ”At the same time, use the official ’Voice of Truth’ account to start a gentle but powerful voting topic: #Is Contractual Spirit Still the Industry Cornerstone#. Don’t name names, just discuss the phenomenon. Give them... forty minutes.”

The pressure transmitted at the speed of light. In less than half an hour, the top of the homepages of all official social media accounts for the Urban Rhythm group were simultaneously replaced with promotional posters and project links for the ’sands of the return journey’ documentary. The caption was short and official: ’Fulfilling a promise, recommending an excellent project worth following.’ Although stiff, it was indeed pinned, and they kept the promise of at least one week.

”Clean and decisive,” Marcus sighed in relief.

”Just a small test.” Alex handed the tablet back, his gaze already set further ahead. The high-level executives from Universal Music were walking toward him through the crowd, their faces glowing with pride, surrounded by even more reporters and industry insiders. He knew that the real negotiations and maneuvering had only officially entered deep waters tonight.

He only made a brief appearance at the victory party. After raising a glass with Taylor to toast the team, he declined the subsequent revelry and went with a few core members to a secluded penthouse private club. The music here was soothing, and the view was expansive, overlooking the sleepless lights of Los Angeles.

The champagne bubbled with fine carbonation. The team members relaxed, reminiscing about every thrilling or brilliant moment of the night, their laughter continuous. Taylor had removed her glamorous makeup and was leaning into the sofa next to Alex in a comfortable knit sweater, her cheeks flushed a light pink from the slight buzz and excitement.

”That Bridge section,” she said softly, her eyes still sparkling, ”hearing it live was ten times more shocking than in the rehearsal room. That ’noise’ you designed turned into the emotion itself on stage.”

”Because your vocals were soaring over it,” Alex clinked glasses with her, ”it didn’t fall into being pure noise.”

In the brief moment of tranquility, Alex sank his consciousness into that domain that belonged solely to him.

[System Status Briefing]

User: Alex Su

Current Status: Healthy (Physique Stage 3), Spirited

Activated/Fused Abilities: (List collapsed, includes the latest exchange [Information Reception Filtering (Passive)])

Special Note: ’Information Reception Filtering (Passive)’ is running stably; environmental information processing efficiency increased by approximately 300%, and invalid information interference reduced by 92%.

[popularity Measurement]

Historical Cumulative Acquisition: 23,530,030 points (This value is a total acquisition statistic used for recording milestones)

Currently Available Points: 3,530,030 points (Cumulative Total - Consumed for exchanges [Spider-Sense and other basic exchanges + Information Filtering 20 million])

(System Note: popularity is a special resource. After consumption for exchanges, available points decrease, but the historical cumulative value is retained as a reference for the growth trajectory and subsequent high-level exchange thresholds.)

[Exchange Center]

Exchange Permissions: Unlocked (Historical Cumulative ≥ 10 million points)

Next Potential Target: [Physical Function Overload (Temporary)]

Required Points: 28,000,000 points

Status: Exchange conditions not yet met (Insufficient currently available points)

Progress: 3,530,030 / 28,000,000 ≈ 12.6%

In a single duel, after exchanging for an expensive ability worth twenty million, he had not only quickly filled the gap caused by the ”spending” but also gained a net increase of over three million available points. The efficiency far exceeded expectations. And the next goal was a behemoth nearly eight times larger. But there was no fear in Alex’s heart, only a clearer roadmap: the official release of the new song with Taylor, the upcoming tour, the impact of the documentary fermenting, and the even bolder content projects he was sketching in his mind... these were all solid steps leading to that peak named ’Transcendence’.

Taylor seemed to notice his momentary distraction and gently tapped his shoe with her toe. ”Thinking about the next ’big project’?”

Alex pulled his thoughts back and smiled at her: ”I was thinking... maybe it’s time to film something different. Not just music.”

”A movie?” Taylor raised an eyebrow.

”Or rather, a new kind of thing that sits somewhere between film, documentary, and social media.” Alex finished the last bit of golden liquid in his glass. ”But before that, I have to properly complete the tour I promised you.”

The city outside the window was like a fallen sea of stars, flickering incessantly. The clamor of the awards ceremony had already faded; the media were rushing to write their articles overnight, the industry was re-evaluating his worth, his opponents were licking their wounds and planning the next round of counterattacks, and capital was greedily calculating the return on investment.

But for Alex Su, all of this was merely a set of constantly changing background parameters in his grand blueprint. He had just completed a powerful leap from a ’pop phenomenon’ to a ’cultural icon’ on the highest stage in the secular sense. And in his exclusive, transcendent dimension, the path to an even more incredible realm became increasingly clear as another step was solidified.

He set down his glass, feeling the clarity and tranquility the new ability brought—a feeling the world had never offered before—and also feeling the infinite possibilities represented by the three million points of ’fuel’ quietly burning within him.

Tonight, he was crowned king.

And tomorrow, the boundaries of the kingdom’s territory would be redrawn by his own hand.