Cheers swept away all doubts about the "rigged" results online, as the Chicago native conquered the picky New York audience with an explosive live performance.
On the Netflix voting page, his approval rating skyrocketed, leading the runner-up Adam by a landslide with 87% of the votes.
The winner was decided; it didn't even matter if the opponent performed next.
"Unparalleled live performance!" Stuber's eyes lit up as he watched the stage while glancing at his assistant's computer screen.
He was a complete layman when it came to rap music. Aside from having no personal interest, he even forbade his children from listening to it.
The only thing he cared about was data.
According to Netflix's real-time backend data, the show had two viewership peaks that night. The first climax appeared when Kanye and the host, Kim Kardashian, announced their engagement.
The second was the segment just now where King Von sprayed trash talk.
Excluding repeated visits from the same IP, the live broadcast viewership exceeded 5 million, with a peak concurrent viewership of over 1 million!
Such data might not seem dazzling compared to traditional TV channels, but it was unprecedented for a streaming live broadcast.
As of last month, the most subscribed account on YouTube, Ray William Johnson, only had 5 million followers.
"Great job, Bro~" As soon as King Von returned backstage, Kendrick was the first to welcome him. Von had won his respect with his skills. "I haven't heard a harder Atlanta Trap track than that."
Von flashed a gang sign in a friendly manner, then hurriedly turned around, scanning for Leon immediately.
His mouth twitched from over-excitement, tears glistening in his eyes: "I don't know how to thank you... Oh God, I really wish my three cousins who are already in heaven could see this. If my dad could see this too..."
"Don't look back at the past, ngga. Only losers drown in the past; tonight, you are a winner." Leon smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and pointed behind him. "At least your mom is here, right? Look how proud she is of you."
Von's mother was already weeping with excitement, constantly crossing herself and muttering prayers of thanks to God.
From now on, she would never have to work three jobs to support the family again.
"Mom, we shouldn't thank God; we should thank this man." Von put his arm around his mom and leaned close to Leon. "He's just like a father to me..."
That one sentence cast a silencing spell on everyone. His mother and Leon looked at each other, falling into an awkward silence.
The surrounding friends clutched their stomachs, leaning back and forth with laughter.
"Bro, if Little Von is really your kid, you need to get a DNA test ASAP..."
"Shut up." Leon rolled his eyes at Kendrick and said to Von, "What the hell are you talking about, you damn brat? I'm only four years older than you."
"Age doesn't matter. In my heart, I respect you like a father!" Von, being the simple-minded guy he was, said with a face full of seriousness, "I'm serious! I'd do anything for you!"
"Go fck yourself..." Leon shrugged, feeling both annoyed and amused.
Watching the laughter and joy backstage, the runner-up Adam shrunk in the corner like an abandoned child.
Knowing clearly that this was a blatantly rigged game, the production team actually displayed it all openly.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt he was being severely bullied. What was even more hateful was that the bully and the principal were on the same side, with one shamelessly calling the other "Dad."
A huge sense of humiliation welled up in his heart. He said to the Dallas contestant who had been eliminated earlier, "If I had a weapon, I wouldn't hesitate to kill those two guys..."
"Bro, who wouldn't want to do that?" The black kid from Dallas muttered with his thick lips, looking worried.
The subsequent plot held no suspense. Adam knew he had no chance, and his final performance was severely below standard.
Basic errors like missing the beat and forgetting lyrics occurred frequently.
While the vote gap widened further, it also triggered ridicule from the internet crowd toward Young Money Records.
"Why would Lil Wayne sign such a piece of trash?"
"Do you even need to ask? Just like between Diddy and Bieber, there must be some 'backdoor' deal."
"LMAO, homies. I'm seeing memes comparing this guy's look to the villain from that old cartoon, the one with the missing ear!"
A creative netizen even helpfully posted a picture of a battered cartoon rat with a bandaged ear, collaging it next to Adam's headshot.
After the performance, Adam followed suit and started spraying trash talk to vent his emotions. "I have never seen such a shameless production team. Look, that Chicago bastard just admitted it himself! The organizers of this show are a bunch of robbers, liars, and bullies!"
His feelings were genuine, and he almost burst into tears.
"Damn, what is this ngga saying?" Sean scratched his head nervously. "Boss, should we cut his mic?"
"Why do that? Let him keep spraying." Leon smiled. "Isn't this just free ratings? If you don't believe me, ask Mr. Stuber if the backend data is shooting up."
Stuber grinned from ear to ear, giving them a thumbs up.
Everything was understood without words.
"This won't end here! I will file a complaint with the NAB (National Association of Broadcasters) immediately!" Adam roared with a choking voice, "Those guys who did bad things better be careful walking at night. Don't forget I'm from New Orleans..."
His victim speech didn't garner any sympathy from the audience. Social media was flooded with "laugh-cry" emojis.
Since when did a third-rate rapper dare to mouth off to Street Jesus?
The live audience expressed their attitude with massive boos.
The championship was settled. Surrounded by a group of scantily clad female dancers, King Von sat on the "Golden Throne" created by the program team for the winner.
With that, the first season of The Rap of America concluded.
That night, under the constant egging on of 50 Cent and Kendrick, Leon took his friends to the most luxurious nightclub in Manhattan.
Champagne, smoke, neon lights, deafening DJ dance music, swaying blonde girls...
Vomit, shattered wine bottles on the floor, bills scattered on girls' butts...
The carnival lasted until 2 AM. Leon, who tried his best to stay sober, lost it the second he got home. He didn't even take off his shoes before face-planting into the sofa and falling asleep.
When he arrived at the company the next day, it was already approaching 11 AM. Even so, he still smelled slightly of alcohol and felt a throbbing headache from time to time, which he could only relieve with cup after cup of coffee.
"I have to say, the coffee you brew yourself is the best," Leon said to Bonnie, blowing on the hot steam rising from the cup.
After dealing with matters in her hometown in Ohio, she had returned to her post at 8 AM this morning.
"What? Is it different from what Miranda brews?" Bonnie smiled charmingly. "We use the same coffee machine."
"Of course it's different. Don't you know that even with fried eggs, everyone makes them taste different? It's called habit."
"Stop with the sweet talk. You've never been a sentimental person, I know that very well." A rare trace of shyness flashed in Bonnie's eyes. "Have you had breakfast? Should I ask Miranda to buy some KFC? Or forget it? It should be almost lunch time now."
"No need, I don't like girls taking care of everything for me." Leon lowered his head in silence for a few seconds, then suddenly changed the subject. "How is your father?"
"Dead," Bonnie said in an icy tone, as if talking about someone unrelated to her. "Shortly after I got off the plane, my sister told me the news of his death. I didn't get to see him one last time."
"I hope you're not too sad..." Leon knew that although this girl acted as tough as steel, the reality might be different.
"Why should I be sad? Death is a relief for him." Bonnie curved her lips into a sweet smile. "And for me too. I feel free, truly free. I've completely cut ties with those bad memories."
This answer made Leon feel a bit strange, but the relieved smile on her face gave no reason for doubt. She spoke about these things without any taboo.
In the days after her father's burial, Bonnie was busy taking care of her siblings. She took out a large sum from her savings—a full $200,000—and divided it equally among everyone.
This was money she had earned one G-string at a time.
"I think my brothers and sisters are finally free too. They no longer have to endure that drunkard's abuse or wipe his ass for the bills he owed at the bar," Bonnie said, looking out the window.
"You're right," Leon echoed.
While the two were talking, a knock on the door sounded. Aisha walked in holding a thick stack of documents.
"Did you have a pleasant holiday, Bonnie?" She didn't know about the changes in Bonnie's family and thought it was just a regular vacation.
"Not bad. At least the air in Ohio is something New York can't compare to. You can't see a single star in the night sky here."
"Hearing you say that makes me want to go back to my hometown for a look too. There are so many stars in the Mexican night sky you can't even count them." Aisha sighed. "Unfortunately, the boss doesn't seem likely to give me this chance. He always treats Mexicans like tireless cattle."
"Don't say that. This place can't run without you," Leon joked.
While responsible for the financial work of Apocalypse Music, Aisha also had to moonlight as an auditor supervising the accounts of companies including SLW Apocalypse and Lion's Den Media.
Compared to the boss who cried tired and poor all day, this woman who couldn't move her butt from the office chair was the busiest one.
"If you could hire some tall, handsome men to join the company, I wouldn't mind working a little harder." Aisha shook her full chest, then switched her expression to serious. "This is the audit of Lion's Den Media and Apocalypse Pictures for this month. Please take a look."
Yesterday's live broadcast of the finals was an unprecedented success, and ticket sales exceeded expectations.
Over 34,000 spectators poured into Yankee Stadium. About 2,000 tickets were half-sold or given away to media, self-media, sponsor families, and fanatical fans.
Even so, calculated at an average ticket price of $150, ticket revenue exceeded $4.8 million.
Counting the $3 million from sponsor product placements, the cost of the massive finale live broadcast wasn't as high as estimated.
Combining the expenses for venue rental, team salaries, stage construction, dance crew salaries, etc., the net expenditure was only a little over $3 million.
Columbia Records hadn't paid this month's record sales share yet, but Apocalypse Music's record sales and copyright income were just enough to cover this payment.
Counting the administrative expenses of his various companies, Leon's liquidity had shrunk slightly compared to a month ago, but still stood at a massive figure of nearly $120 million.
However, as the start date for Ready Player One approached, it wouldn't be long before he fell from his billionaire throne.
James Wan had already reached a cooperation intention with Weta Digital for CGI effects, and the two parties were only one step away from signing.
At the latest by early November, the first phase of $50 million in filming funds had to be in place.
According to the investment agreement, Leon's contribution amounted to $40 million.
"Damn..."
Once the shooting command is given, gold flows like water.
Thinking of the massive subsequent expenses, he couldn't help but feel a bit discouraged about acquiring the Z100 radio station.
But fortunately, after the Christmas holiday, Apocalypse Music would usher in the biggest explosive period since its establishment.
During this period, Ariana Grande and Cardi B would release their debut albums successively.
Even more significant was that Leon's own second album would be released soon.
Judging by the two pre-release singles already out, both Columbia Records executives and music media had high hopes for this album—it was an album that would completely cement Leon's status as a superstar.
By that time, no matter how crazy his expansion or acquisition plans were, he wouldn't need to worry about funds anymore.
Leon rested his chin on his hands and pondered for a moment, as if suddenly thinking of something. "How much longer will the box office audit process for Straight Outta Compton take?"
One month after Straight Outta Compton was released, he received $46.5 million from the cumulative box office of $150 million.
Now, more than two months had passed since the screening ended, and the cumulative box office of the movie had settled at $205 million.
Theaters and distributors use a tiered profit-sharing model. The later it is in the screening run, the more the theaters take, and the investor's share drops significantly. But it was still a considerable figure.
Starting from the first week of July, the theater share rose to 50%, then climbed all the way to 70%.
Counting the distribution fee share for Lionsgate and director James Wan's share, the number falling into the investors' hands should hover around $13 million.
Robinson would take $3.9 million, and the rest would fall into Leon's pocket.
Looking at the boss's expectant eyes, Aisha shook her head and said, "At least another month."
"Why does it take so long?"
"Although the European box office accounts for less than 5%, it has to be counted in the total box office. And KPMG always follows strict audit procedures and quality control standards. There's no helping it."
"Alright."
Hearing this, Leon didn't bother to dwell on it. The tug-of-war with Jay-Z for the radio station wasn't something this meager box office share could solve anyway.
By the time Aisha finished reporting on the financial work, it was already 12 PM. Leon's stomach, burned by alcohol, let out bursts of protest.
He wrapped himself up tight as usual and, accompanied by Jorge, found an Italian restaurant with an excellent reputation.
"A cappuccino, and a Marinara pizza, 16-inch, no extra cheese." Leon avoided the weird dishes he had never seen on the menu and ordered quickly.
"No problem, sir. Please wait." The Italian waitress flipped her shiny black hair and smiled sweetly.
Twenty minutes later, the pizza, fresh from the oven and steaming hot, was brought to the table, exuding the rich aroma of garlic and oregano.
Leon picked up a slice with his hands. Just as he was about to dig in, a burst of noise came from outside the glass window.
Footsteps and cursing got closer and closer. Crowds holding various signs and shouting slogans walked past the restaurant.
He quickly recognized them as protesters from the "Occupy Wall Street" movement.
This large-scale organized protest activity not only hadn't faded with time but actually showed a trend of intensifying. In September, thousands of demonstrators gathered in Manhattan, trying to occupy Wall Street and turn it into Egypt's Tahrir Square.
By the beginning of this month, the demonstrations had even extended to Washington, with over a thousand protesters marching in D.C.
Now, this vigorous movement was sweeping across the United States, and the prosperous downtown Brooklyn commercial district was inevitably affected.
Protesters held signs with portraits of famous Wall Street tycoons and government officials.
Including core Democratic figures like Speaker Pelosi and Senator Charlie.
In the portrait, Charlie stood on a high place holding a baton, like a music conductor. Below him was a large crowd of people with hollow eyes, like marionettes.
The bold letters on the sign accused him of manipulating the media and having backdoor deals with Wall Street capital.
Smack—A demonstrator threw a stone at the restaurant without warning. The glass shattered in response, and the waitress screamed in fright.
"What do you bastards want?" Jorge stood up, blocking Leon behind him with his fridge-like body.
Facing the giant, the demonstrator wasn't afraid at all, shouting at the top of his lungs, "What are you looking at, you damn Mexican! You think crossing the border to get here means you're in heaven? This is hell! Those guys sitting in Manhattan offices wearing ties will take everything from you! Look at that bastard behind you; I can tell with one glance he's one of those vampires!"
Leon acted as if he heard nothing, leisurely stuffing pizza into his mouth.
He didn't think this demonstration initiated by unemployed blue-collar workers could pose any substantial threat to Wall Street and the bureaucratic groups.
But from the near-fanatical state of these people, he vaguely felt a sensation—the all-powerful Charlie didn't seem invulnerable after all.