Music God Celebrity

Clear My Building

The morning sun illuminated the towering glass facade of the Harmonia Conservatory West Wing. This was the sanctuary of sound. The architecture was specifically designed to amplify pure talent and filter out the unworthy. For three long years, Ryan Parker had entered this building through the rusted service doors in the back alley, carrying a mop bucket and a bottle of bleach. Today, he walked through the grand revolving doors as a conqueror.

​He wore the dark charcoal wool coat from the luxury boutique. In his right hand, he casually carried the custom carbon fiber vault containing the Vogue Stratus. His stride was measured, calm, and dripping with a silent authority he had never possessed before. The billion dollar balance sitting in his account was like a quiet roaring ocean beneath his calm exterior.

​He approached the polished marble concierge desk in the center of the lobby. The premium acoustic suites were located on the top three floors, featuring state of the art soundproofing and exquisite grand pianos. He needed a pristine space to fully sync his new System abilities with the Vogue Stratus before the Starfall Showcase.

​"I need the Grand Acoustic Suite for the next six hours," Ryan said.

​His voice, incredibly deep and resonant, startled the freshman girl working behind the desk. She looked up quickly, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep red at his sharp appearance. She completely failed to recognize the former campus mute beneath the expensive clothes and the confident posture.

​"Right away, sir. May I please have your student ID to verify your access?" she asked politely, her fingers hovering over the booking keyboard.

​"He does not have a student ID for the upper floors, Jessica," a grating, incredibly arrogant voice echoed across the quiet lobby. "He is a stagehand. And a fired one, at that."

​Ryan turned his head slowly. Brandon Cole, the student council president, strolled across the polished floor. Brandon was wearing his trademark arrogant smirk and a tailored blazer bearing the elite academy crest. He was Logan Murphy’s primary lapdog. He was a guy who only secured his own modest record deal by doing Logan’s dirty work around the campus.

​"Brandon," Ryan said softly. The single word rolled out of his newly healed throat with absolute, terrifying clarity, carrying effortlessly across the massive lobby.

​Brandon stopped dead in his tracks. His arrogant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second as his brain processed the pristine sound. The wild rumors from the cafe last night were actually true. The broken mute could speak again. But Brandon quickly recovered his composure, puffing out his chest and sneering.

​"So the pathetic charity case finally found his voice," Brandon mocked loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Congratulations, Ryan. You can finally beg for spare change out loud on the street corners. But that little medical miracle does not change the fact that you do not belong anywhere near the West Wing. The premium suites are strictly reserved for actual musicians preparing for the Starfall Showcase, not janitors playing dress up in rented suits."

​"I am competing in the Showcase, Brandon. I require a practice suite. The Grand Acoustic Suite is currently vacant in the schedule. Book it right now, Jessica," Ryan commanded, his eyes fixed on Brandon without a shred of intimidation.

​Jessica nervously looked back and forth between the two men, sensing the heavy tension. "I... um... it is currently showing as available in the system..."

​"Cancel it immediately," Brandon snapped. He stepped behind the marble desk and roughly shoved Jessica aside. He tapped the master control tablet aggressively. "You are not competing anywhere, Parker. Logan personally struck your name from the preliminary judging list this morning. You do not have a faculty sponsor, you do not have a record label backing you, and you certainly do not have a room here."

​"The showcase rules are open to all active seniors," Ryan stated clearly, his expression remaining completely blank. "You are directly violating the academy charter."

​"I am the student council president," Brandon sneered. His fingers flew across the tablet screen, confirming multiple prompts. "I interpret the charter. And right now, I am interpreting that Logan Murphy needs exclusive access to every single premium room on the top three floors. He needs utter silence to prepare his debut masterpiece with Megan. There. Done. Every single room is now officially booked under Murphy Entertainment for the next three days."

​"Logan is not even in the building today," Ryan pointed out smoothly.

​"He might want to practice his vocals in one room and take a nap in another," Brandon laughed cruelly, leaning over the desk. "That is the absolute privilege of immense wealth and raw talent, Ryan. It is a concept you will never, ever understand. You see this beautiful glass building? It belongs to the elite class. You are just a dirty stain on the floor. Now take your little plastic guitar case and get out before I call campus security to drag you out by your hair."

​Ryan looked around the magnificent lobby instead of replying. He remembered reading a desperate article in the campus financial newsletter last month. Dean Marcus was in serious trouble. The conservatory endowment fund had taken a massive, devastating hit due to terrible investments. The board of directors was actively threatening to sell the West Wing to a commercial real estate developer if Dean Marcus could not raise fifty million dollars by the end of the current semester.

​A brilliant golden screen materialized directly in Ryan’s field of vision.

​[Ding! Host has encountered territorial suppression by a significantly lower tier entity.]

[Mission Generated: Assert Absolute Dominance.]

[Activating System Function: Capital Suppression. Would Host like to initiate a hostile takeover of the immediate environment?]

​Ryan mentally accepted the prompt without a second thought.

​"You really think true wealth is renting a room for an afternoon, Brandon?" Ryan asked softly. He pulled his sleek smartphone from his coat pocket. He opened the private banking application connected directly to his one billion dollar emergency fund. "Wealth is not borrowing a space. Wealth is owning the silence."

​"Are you reciting dramatic poetry to me now?" Brandon scoffed, leaning against the marble desk and rolling his eyes. "Call security right now, Jessica. Tell the guards the former stagehand is harassing the real students."

​Ryan ignored the barking dog completely. He quickly located the public donation routing number for the Harmonia Conservatory Endowment Fund. He typed in the exact transfer amount. Fifty million dollars. In the attached legal memo line, he simply wrote a few words.

​'Full acquisition of West Wing naming rights and absolute administrative control. Effective immediately. Signed, Ryan Parker.'

​He pressed confirm. The screen flashed green.

​"I am giving you one last warning to leave, Parker," Brandon growled angrily. He stepped around the desk to confront Ryan directly, his fists clenched. "Logan told me you caused a pathetic scene at the music store last night. You bought a suit, you bought your voice back with some miracle surgery, but you are still absolute garbage. Megan left you because you are a pathetic loser. Logan is going to crush you completely, and I am going to thoroughly enjoy watching it happen."

​"You talk entirely too much for a dog on a short leash," Ryan replied coldly.

​Brandon’s face turned bright purple with rage. "That is it. I am throwing you out onto the pavement myself."

​He reached out aggressively to grab Ryan by the lapel of his coat. Before his fingers could even graze the expensive wool fabric, a piercing, frantic alarm bell began to ring furiously from the elevator bank across the massive lobby. It was not a fire alarm. It was the private executive elevator chime, a car reserved exclusively for the elite board of directors and the Dean.

​The heavy brass doors slid open violently, bouncing against their tracks.

​Dean Marcus stumbled out into the lobby. He was a highly distinguished man in his late fifties, usually the picture of academic grace. But right now, his expensive tie was completely crooked, his glasses were slipping down his sweaty nose, and he was panting heavily. He was clutching a golden master keycard against his chest as if his very life depended on it.

​"Dean Marcus!" Brandon called out, his arrogant and aggressive demeanor instantly dissolving into sycophantic, groveling politeness. "Perfect timing, sir. I was just dealing with a very stubborn trespasser. Ryan Parker here is flatly refusing to leave the premises. Do not worry, I have already secured all the upper floors for Mr. Murphy, exactly as we discussed yesterday."

​Dean Marcus did not even look at Brandon. He sprinted frantically across the lobby, his leather shoes slipping wildly on the polished marble floor. He skidded to a halt just a few feet away from Ryan, panting heavily, his eyes wide with a mixture of absolute shock and profound, terrifying reverence.

​The Dean had been sitting in his depressing office, staring blankly at a notice of foreclosure, when the university banking portal had triggered a core system override alert. A direct, non refundable cash wire of fifty million dollars had cleared instantly into the dying endowment fund. The attached legal conditions were ironclad and instantly verified by the highest tier of international banking authorities.

​"Mr... Mr. Parker," Dean Marcus gasped, bending at the waist in a deep, highly respectful bow that sent a massive shockwave of absolute horror straight down Brandon’s spine. "The transfer... the central bank just verified the entire transfer. Fifty million dollars. The board of directors has already given their preliminary emergency approval. The West Wing is saved. It... it belongs entirely to you, sir."

​Brandon’s jaw dropped so hard it looked physically unhinged. He stared blankly at the Dean, then slowly turned his head to look at Ryan. His brain was completely failing to process the impossible words. "Dean Marcus? What on earth are you saying? He is Ryan Parker. He is the stagehand! He is completely broke!"

​"Silence, you absolute fool!" Dean Marcus roared at the top of his lungs. He turned his head to glare at Brandon with a terrifying ferocity that made the student council president jump backward in pure fear. "You are speaking to the primary financial benefactor of this entire institution! Show some respect immediately or I will have you permanently expelled before lunch is served!"

​The Dean quickly turned back to Ryan, his demeanor softening into total submission as he offered the golden master keycard with trembling hands. "The Parker Pavilion, sir. That is what we will officially rename the building by tomorrow morning. This keycard grants you absolute, unrestricted access to every single room, vault, and secure server in the facility. You possess absolute administrative control."

​Ryan calmly reached out and took the golden card. He slid it effortlessly into his coat pocket. The System chimed happily in his mind, confirming the successful completion of the mission and the addition of a thousand System Points to his profile. He felt the heavy phantom weight of the past three years finally lift entirely from his broad shoulders. He was no longer a ghost haunting these musical halls. He was the god who owned them.

​Ryan turned his piercing gaze slowly toward Brandon. The student council president was shaking uncontrollably, his face completely drained of all color. The arrogant smirk was entirely gone, completely replaced by the primal terror of a mouse realizing it had just walked blindly into a dragon’s den.

​"Brandon," Ryan said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, authoritative whisper that echoed perfectly in the acoustically designed lobby. "You interpreted the charter. Now I am interpreting my ownership."

​Ryan raised his hand and pointed a single finger firmly toward the exit doors.

​"Clear my building.”