After reaching the destination, Leon quickly walked into the backstage area, protected by a group of staff in suits.
"Mr. Leon!"
"This way!"
Bloomberg's assistant waved enthusiastically as soon as she saw him. "Thank you very much for gracing us with your presence. You're even half an hour earlier than expected."
"It's my honor to be invited by Mr. Bloomberg to such a charity event. I've always wanted to do something for teenagers." The two shook hands.
The theme of this event concerned juvenile delinquency rates, public school education, and criminal rehabilitation.
These topics used to be the sharpest social problems in the Bronx, but under Bloomberg's administration, they had significantly improved. The quality of public school education in New York ranked first in the nation.
The city government poured heavy funds into redistributing teacher resources and optimizing infrastructure, making New York's public schools even superior to expensive private schools in other states.
"Please follow me." The female assistant handed him a draft speech. "Mr. Bloomberg hopes you can say a few words on stage. The teenagers here all see you as an idol."
"No problem."
Leon took the draft and flipped through it simply. The content wasn't much different from speeches by success gurus.
It was about how a white kid growing up in the slums relied on strong inner conviction to struggle all the way to become a top-tier singer, standing in the center of Times Square to ring the New Year's bell.
"We designed a nickname 'Street Artist' for you; hope you like it," the female assistant said.
"I like it very much."
Leon's works were always filled with a lot of descriptions of guns, violence, and sex.
Facing media questions, he said: I hope to depict the reality and cruelty of street life with plain sketching techniques, without making any explanation for the moral issues involved.
The nickname "Street Jesus" was always inevitably linked to violence. Bloomberg's team thought this would cause a bad influence, while "Street Artist" sounded much softer.
Ten minutes later, Bloomberg walked out of a small room in the corner, still elegant and serious.
Although he saw Leon quickly, he didn't walk over immediately. Instead, he chatted with the staff in a low voice for two minutes before walking over to say hello.
"Young man, we meet again~" Bloomberg took the initiative to extend his right hand and patted Leon's shoulder with the attitude of an elder.
"I gained a lot from our conversation last time. As an ordinary New York citizen, I sincerely thank you for your contribution to this city."
A round of clichéd, fancy flattery was very effective on Bloomberg. Sitting on a fortune of $40 billion, he had long been immune to rainbow farts bragging about his wealth.
It could be clearly seen from his attitude towards life—he didn't love famous watches or yachts; private jets were for work needs...
What idealists enjoy most is the moment when the people cheer and sing for them.
The relationship between the two sides was obviously half a step closer. Bloomberg proactively pulled Leon to sit on the sofa. "I'm sorry I didn't know much about your music works before. I'm already behind the times; my memory of music is still stuck in Michael Jackson's era. The 30th Anniversary Concert he held at Madison Square Garden in 2001 was truly unforgettable..."
"MJ has always been my role model, both in music and charity." Leon deliberately left out half a sentence: Except for his final end.
"But no matter how powerful MJ's appeal is in New York, he is ultimately a kid from central Indiana, while you have the hope of becoming New York's own MJ." Bloomberg waved his hand and said.
"That's exactly the goal I want to pursue," Leon said.
"I like ambitious young people like you." Bloomberg patted his shoulder. "My youngest daughter Georgina is your fan. This girl has been like a tomboy since she was little. It's her regret that she can't come to see you today; she is participating in an equestrian competition in Europe."
"There will be opportunities in the future. Working with the New York City government led by you always lifts my spirits!"
The two chatted more and more congenially, exchanging many views on charity and racial issues, especially topics targeting the New York entertainment industry.
Bloomberg almost missed his time to go on stage and only got up from the sofa after his assistant reminded him in a low voice.
"Looks like you had a great chat." Phil leaned in, excitement revealing in his tone.
Although he didn't make it to the table in that conversation just now, he could glean a lot of information from the perspective of a bystander.
With Diddy and Jay-Z collapsing one after another, this city hoped for a "Son of New York" to reappear and carry the banner.
From any angle, Leon was the best choice.
Cheers erupted continuously from the main stage direction. During his speech, Bloomberg invited multiple citizen representatives on stage one after another to show his approachable image.
"Fk, a big shot like him doesn't even have a bodyguard beside him when interacting with citizens." Phil looked at Bloomberg's back, full of admiration.
"Those guys who can go on stage have all been strictly screened." Leon poured cold water on him. "Look at those guys with pot-lid haircuts looking left and right in the front row of the audience. Do you really think the Secret Service is a bunch of useless eaters?"
Phil originally wanted to retort, but the moment he saw a pot-lid haircut in the audience take out a black walkie-talkie, his head drooped, and he couldn't say another word.
Leon's words echoed repeatedly in his mind—"Don't expect a perfect savior. No matter what image politicians show, it is the result carefully designed by the PR team..."
At the same time, it made Phil worry about one thing—would this kid addicted to betrayal dare to stab even Bloomberg twice one day?
Bloomberg's speech lasted for an hour. The enthusiasm of the crowd on site wasn't extinguished by the lengthy and boring content but rose even higher.
Leon's appearance pushed the heat of the scene to a new peak.
Brownsville, as the most chaotic slum in New York, wasn't much different from the Bronx public housing area.
Street Jesus's inspirational story inspired every teenager here.
"Leon! Look here!"
"OMG... I can't believe I really saw you."
"My bedroom is covered with your posters!"
The cheering lasted for a full two minutes before gradually subsiding.
Leon followed the manuscript provided by the government team, improvised integrating some speech techniques, and completed the task easily.
As soon as he returned backstage, multiple New York officials surrounded him with compliments. "That was a perfect speech, Mr. Leon! I saw many young people excited to tears; your story will inspire their future lives."
"Have you read some books or videos about public speaking?"
"No, this is all thanks to the excellent preparation work of the New York City government." Leon had indeed watched some books and videos about speeches, only the author was a German guy whose name couldn't be mentioned.
After the event, Leon wanted to take the opportunity to chat more with Bloomberg, but the Mayor was busy dealing with reporters' questions.
The idea had to be abandoned.
On the way back to Tribeca, Leon received a call from Robbie.
"I'm in New York. Do you want to meet?"
"This..." Leon hesitated for two seconds, sighed lightly, and politely expressed refusal. "I'm afraid it's not very convenient today."
His relationship with Taylor was at a critical period; countless eyes in the circle were staring at them.
If he was discovered meeting privately with his ex-girlfriend by paparazzi at this time, it wouldn't be a good thing.
"Alright. I heard you're going to propose to Taylor?" Robbie tried hard to make her tone sound calm, but still leaked a trace of disappointment.
Leon felt puzzled. He had just seriously discussed marriage with Taylor last night, and today it reached Robbie's ears.
As for who leaked these conversations, it wasn't hard to guess. With Taylor's EQ, it was impossible for her to tell Robbie these things personally.
It was mostly likely good friends like Miranda Kerr; their big mouths couldn't keep any secrets.
"That's right, maybe this year." Leon was too lazy to continue hiding and frankly stated his true thoughts.
"Bless you guys."
"Thanks."
Both sides fell silent simultaneously; the atmosphere was awkward to the point of weirdness.
About a minute later, Robbie broke the silence proactively. "Regarding my agency contract, Lovett wants to schedule a time to chat with me one-on-one."
Leon immediately perked up and sat up straight. "Listen, Robbie, you don't need to do anything; just tell me the time and place of the meeting."
"I understand. Don't forget what you promised me."
"Of course. I've already talked to Jeff about this matter; the result will definitely satisfy you..."
Their conversation showed no trace of love, flat like two business people discussing an exchange of interests.
"Good." Robbie didn't say another word and calmly hung up the phone.
When Leon returned to his home in Tribeca, the huge mansion was empty.
A few minutes ago, he received a message that Taylor had an important gathering with friends tonight to welcome Emma Watson, who had come from afar from the UK, and a new male singer named Ed Sheeran.
Besides the remains of salad all over the table, only the annoying meowing of "Christmas" remained in the house.
Just as Leon was thinking about how to solve the dinner problem, Christmas walked up to him with half a box of cat food in its mouth.
Meow~
After a provocative meow, it tasted the canned food with a face of enjoyment.
"Damn it..."
Just as he was about to grab Christmas by the neck and teach this pompous fat cat a good lesson, a burst of brisk drum beats sounded in his ears.
What's the trick? I wish I knew
I'm so done with thinking through all the things I could've been
And I know you wonder too
All it takes is that one look at you and I run right back to you
You cross that line and it's time to say F you
The whole song presented typical electronic music characteristics from drum beats to arrangement. The flickering guitar and fingerstyle at the beginning laid the foundation for the subsequent parabolic Drop.
The rhythm of the main section was full of instigation, and the application of synthesized audio had somewhat of a shadow of Faded.
After the female vocal part ended, the second chorus was interpreted by a husky male voice, finally merging into the female voice to form a duet.
The MV title unfolded—All Falls Down.