Music God Celebrity

The Young Master's Dirty Work

The night air of the city carried a sharp, biting chill. Ryan Parker stepped out of the newly christened Parker Pavilion and onto the quiet street. The glowing signs of the entertainment district painted the wet pavement in vibrant shades of crimson and blue. This city was a massive paradox. On the surface, it was a glittering monument to musical perfection and high society. Below that polished veneer lay a gritty, dangerous underworld built entirely on corporate espionage, ruined careers, and dirty money. Ryan knew the dark side intimately well. He had lived completely submerged in it for three long years.

​His phone vibrated heavily inside his tailored wool coat. The caller ID displayed Victoria Price.

​"Ms. Price," Ryan answered, his voice smooth and commanding in the quiet street. "Are you currently alone?"

​"I am alone in my office, Ryan," Victoria said, her tone sharp and businesslike over the receiver. "I just reviewed the acoustic logs from the Grand Suite. You completely shattered a crystal glass with pure vocal resonance. Do you have any idea how medically impossible that is?"

​"I have a very good doctor," Ryan replied simply, stepping into a dimly lit avenue that cut straight toward his luxury penthouse.

​"Keep your medical secrets," Victoria laughed softly. "I am actually calling to formally warn you. The board of directors is panicking right now. Logan Murphy’s father is throwing his massive corporate weight around."

​"What exactly is the old man demanding?" Ryan asked, his tone entirely unbothered.

​"He is demanding his son closes the showcase tomorrow night," Victoria explained. "They are aggressively pulling strings to make sure your solo performance is buried in the middle of the schedule while the audience is distracted. The industry is a very dirty game, Ryan. They will try to silence you before you even step on that stage."

​"Let them try," Ryan said. "They only have power because people in your position allow them to keep it. Tomorrow, the rules change entirely. Thank you for the warning, Victoria."

​"Just make sure you actually show up tomorrow, Ryan," Victoria warned him seriously. "Do not disappoint me. I am risking my own reputation by keeping you on the final roster."

​"I will be there," Ryan promised.

​The call ended. Ryan placed the phone back into his coat pocket.

​The avenue narrowed into a cobblestone alleyway that served as a convenient shortcut to the elite residential district. The streetlights here were deliberately dim, designed to offer privacy to the wealthy residents walking home from private clubs.

​Footsteps echoed sharply behind him. They were heavy, completely lacking rhythm, and totally out of sync with the natural cadence of the sleeping city. Ryan stopped walking. He did not turn around immediately. He simply listened to the uneven breathing of the men approaching him.

​Three figures stepped out from the deep shadows ahead of him, entirely blocking the narrow path. Two more men emerged from the rear, perfectly sealing off the alleyway. They wore dark leather jackets and thick gloves. These were not random street muggers. They stood with the relaxed, heavy posture of professional enforcers.

​The leader, a massive man with a jagged white scar across his jaw, stepped forward under the flickering amber light of a broken streetlamp. He pulled a thick steel pipe from his jacket.

​"You are Ryan Parker," the leader stated loudly. "The famous campus mute."

​"Who is asking?" Ryan asked, his deep voice carrying no trace of fear. "And why are you blocking my street?"

​"A very wealthy friend of yours is asking," the scarred man chuckled gruffly. "He sends his absolute best regards. He also sent very specific instructions for us tonight."

​"And what exactly are those instructions?" Ryan asked smoothly, keeping his hands resting casually inside his coat pockets.

​"We are supposed to break every single finger on both of your hands," the leader explained, tapping the steel pipe violently against his open palm. "And then, we are supposed to crush your windpipe again. He said you have a very pretty voice now, and he wants to make sure nobody ever hears it."

​"Logan Murphy really lacks imagination," Ryan sighed deeply, shaking his head. "He stole my song. He stole my woman. And now he is trying to steal my health because he is terrified of a fair competition tomorrow."

​"We do not care about your pathetic college drama," one of the thugs behind Ryan spat aggressively.

​"Tell me," Ryan continued, ignoring the interruption. "How much is he paying you for this pathetic errand?"

​"Fifty grand," the leader smirked. "Twenty five now, twenty five when we send him a picture of your ruined hands. Nothing personal, kid. You just crossed the wrong wealthy family in this city."

​"Fifty grand is a very cheap price for your lives," Ryan said softly.

​The thugs erupted into loud, cruel laughter that echoed off the brick walls.

​"Listen to this guy!" the man behind Ryan jeered loudly. "He thinks he is a tough guy because he wears a fancy suit! Grab his arms. Let us get this over with quickly. I want to hit the bars before midnight."

​"Hold him still," the leader commanded, taking a heavy step forward and raising the steel pipe. "I want to hear him scream when the bones actually snap."

​Ryan did not retreat. He did not panic. The emotional trauma of his past accident tried to claw fiercely at his mind, bringing back the terrible memory of crushing metal and tearing flesh, but the System’s cold logic instantly washed the fear away.

​A brilliant blue notification screen violently shattered the darkness of the alleyway in his vision.

​[Ding! The System detects Host is in immediate physical danger.]

[Analyzing hostile intent. Threat level assessed as Lethal.]

[Activating passive survival skill: Rhythm of Combat.]

[Description: Master level martial arts synchronized entirely to tempo, breathing, and heart rates. The Host will perceive combat perfectly as a musical score.]

​The world around Ryan suddenly slowed down to an absolute crawl. The chaotic noise of the alleyway instantly resolved into a clear, distinct rhythm. He could hear the heavy, frantic four four heartbeat of the man lunging at his back. He heard the slow, labored inhale of the leader raising the steel pipe. It was a sloppy, discordant symphony, and Ryan was the grand conductor.

​"Grab his coat!" the thug behind Ryan yelled, reaching out with thick hands.

​Ryan moved. He did not simply dodge the attack. He pivoted on his heel with the absolute grace of a principal dancer, stepping precisely onto the off beat of the man’s violent attack. Ryan brought his elbow around in a devastating arc, striking the man perfectly on the temple. The sound was a sharp, percussive crack. The man collapsed instantly to the wet cobblestones without making another sound.

​"What the hell!" the leader shouted, swinging the heavy steel pipe in a wild, horizontal arc aimed straight at Ryan’s head.

​Ryan perceived the deadly swing as a slow, entirely predictable bass line. He ducked smoothly underneath the heavy metal pipe, stepping perfectly inside the leader’s open guard. Ryan struck with open palms, targeting the vital nerve clusters in the man’s chest and throat in rapid, staccato bursts.

​One. Two. Three. Four.

​The strikes were elegant but absolutely brutal. The leader dropped the steel pipe instantly, clutching his chest as he desperately gasped for air. Ryan delivered a final, sweeping kick to the back of the man’s knees, sending the massive enforcer crashing down violently onto his face.

​The remaining three thugs froze in utter shock. This was supposed to be an easy payday against a soft, rich music student. Instead, they were watching an apex predator dismantle their crew with terrifying, effortless precision.

​"Get him!" one of them screamed, pulling a switchblade from his pocket.

​"Your tempo is entirely off," Ryan said calmly.

​The three men rushed him simultaneously. It was a massive mistake. Ryan slipped through their chaotic attacks like water flowing effortlessly around jagged rocks. He caught the wrist of the man holding the knife, twisting it sharply until a loud pop echoed clearly in the alleyway. The man screamed in pure agony, dropping the blade. Ryan used the man’s own forward momentum to throw him violently into the solid brick wall.

​The last two thugs hesitated, staring wildly at their broken comrades groaning on the wet ground.

​"Are you going to finish the song?" Ryan asked, his breathing perfectly steady. His tailored suit was not even wrinkled.

​The two men exchanged a completely terrified look, turned around rapidly, and sprinted away down the dark alleyway, abandoning their leader completely in the shadows.

​Ryan stood quietly in the alley. The discordant rhythm of the brief fight faded, returning the night to its natural, peaceful silence. He looked down at the leader of the thugs. The massive man was groaning loudly, trying desperately to push himself up from the wet cobblestones. His face was pale and slick with cold sweat.

​"You broke my ribs," the leader wheezed. "Who the hell are you?"

​"I am the man who is going to completely dismantle Logan Murphy’s entire life," Ryan stated coldly. "Empty your pockets right now. Give me your phone."

​"I cannot breathe," the man groaned.

​"Give me the phone or I will break your other side," Ryan demanded without a shred of sympathy.

​The thug did not dare refuse again. He reached into his leather jacket with a trembling, agonizingly slow hand and pulled out a burner smartphone. He slid it across the wet ground toward Ryan’s polished shoes.

​Ryan picked up the device. The screen was cracked, but the messaging application was currently open. The brightness of the screen illuminated Ryan’s sharp features in the darkness.

​There was a single unread text message sitting at the very top of the screen. The contact name was simply listed as Client M.

​The message read: "Is the mute broken yet? Send the pictures immediately. I need to sleep well tonight before the showcase."

​Ryan felt a cold, hard knot of pure resolve solidify deep inside his chest. Logan was truly a pathetic coward. He could not win with raw talent, so he resorted to paying criminals in the dark alleys. It was incredibly pathetic. But it also gave Ryan the absolute moral high ground to utterly destroy the Murphy family tomorrow without a single ounce of hesitation or mercy.

​Ryan unlocked the phone. He pointed the camera down at the alley floor, framing the unconscious thug and the terrified, groaning leader who was still clutching his broken ribs in the dirt. He snapped a crystal clear, high resolution photo.

​He opened the text thread with Client M and directly attached the brutal photograph.

​He tapped the digital keyboard, his fingers moving swiftly as he typed out his customized reply.

​"Your men lack rhythm, Logan. They are completely broken. I am perfectly fine."

​Ryan paused briefly, staring at the glowing white letters. He added one final sentence to completely shatter whatever fragile peace of mind the young master had left for the night.

​"See you tomorrow, Young Master."

​He hit send.

​Ryan dropped the burner phone back onto the cobblestones and crushed it completely under the heavy heel of his shoe, grinding the glass and plastic directly into the dirt. He adjusted the lapels of his charcoal coat, turned his back on the groaning enforcers, and continued his peaceful walk toward his luxury penthouse.

​The Starfall Showcase was only hours away. Tomorrow, the violence would happen perfectly in the light, right on the main stage, and Ryan Parker was going to sing a song that would burn the entire industry straight to the ground.