Rise of the Zillionaire Star

Chapter 50: Lyrical Leverage

The arena exploded. Fans, critics and even skeptics howled.

Zee flashed in triumph,  “Face-Slap Quest Progress: 95%.”

The bars hovered over Jaylen and Trevin neck to neck. Suddenly, the system glitched. Jaylen’s HUD flickered red.

“Warning: External Interference Detected. Public Sentiment Feed Compromised.”

Zee’s voice cracked like static.

“Jaylen, Vale’s rigging the arena! He’s rewriting the outcome!”

Jaylen looked up. Trevin smirked knowingly, as if victory was already sealed.

The crowd roared, the lights flared, and the screen froze mid-vote.

………..

The moment Jaylen stepped into the Z-Arena, it looked like the world had changed.

The digital coliseum wasn’t just a streaming venue. It was a living battlefield that's created from light, sound, and different memory lanes. Tall holograms of screaming fans shimmered in the air, while the dome itself pulsed with bass, and ready to broadcast every lyrics across millions of devices worldwide.

Above him, the words PvF which means Public vs. Fame burned bright in red colour. This wasn’t just about lyrics anymore. This was a test of identity.

And waiting for him at the center stage, dressed in velvet clothing and his face deep with arrogance was Trevin Voss. His smirk cut sharper than a blade. “Well, well. The ghost finally steps out of the dark.” His voice echoed over the arena. “Funny, Jaylen, how the world thinks you’re some savior of music… but we both know who wrote the foundations you stand on.”

The crowd roared with lots of boos and cheers blending into a frenzy.

Jaylen didn’t flinch. Inside, the Zee system hummed.

“System Alert: Face-Slap Quest Activated – “Take Back Your Pen”

Objective: Prove authorship. Break Trevin Voss’s false claim.

Reward: Talent +7, 3 Million Global Views, Unlock Fan Memory Broadcast.”

Jaylen tightened his grip on the mic. His eyes blazed. “Funny, Trevin. You talk about shadows, but you forgot one thing, shadows only exist when there’s light. And you have been feeding off mine for years.”

The crowd exploded in more jeers. 

The arena lit with gold as Trevin’s beat dropped. It was smooth, confident, and dripping with swagger.

“Yo, this kid Jaylen, weak, just a phase,

I built his bars, I set the stage.

Ghost with no ghostwriter, truth don’t bend,

Your little fairy tale’s at its end!”

Each bar hit with force, triggering holographic projections of clips of Jaylen in his early grind, hunched over notebooks, unknown and struggling. Trevin’s performance twisted the history, painting himself as the mastermind.

Fans gasped. Social feeds lit up in real-time,

#JaylenExposed started trending online.

“Is Trevin telling the truth?”

“Did Jaylen fake everything?”

Trevin bowed mockingly as the crowd reacted. His grin screamed confidence.

Jaylen inhaled. He let the rhythm take over for just a moment. The Drama Amplifier inside Z-Arena surged to life. Every word he spat would manifest into memory visuals as the proof burned into the audience’s eyes.

“Bars stolen like chains in the night,

Took my words, tried to dim my light.

You forged contracts, cut my page,

But I bled ink long before your stage.”

Behind him, glowing image surfaced. It was pages from his old journals, scribbled verses and how Trevin once begged to borrow. Fans saw the truth as holograms replayed the nights where Jaylen wrote raw lyrics in cramped apartments, while Trevin lurked, copying his lines.

Gasps replaced doubt. Hashtags flipped to the surface, “#JaylenTruth

“He’s showing receipts in real time!”

“Trevin plagiarized???”

Jaylen leaned forward in a voice as sharp as the glass. “You don’t own my pen, Trevin. You never did. You just sharpened your blade with my blood.”

The arena thundered.

Trevin’s mask cracked. Rage twisted his face as he launched his second verse. The beat became darker and heavier.

“Yeah, you got receipts, but so what, kid?

Without my push, you’d never exist.

I made the calls, I built your name,

You’re just a puppet in my fame game!”

The holograms showed Trevin shaking hands with executives, standing smugly in studios. He tried to paint himself as Jaylen’s creator.

But Zee intervened.

“Zee Protocol: Memory Sync Activated

Linking: Public Witness Files.”

Suddenly, testimonials flashed in the air that shows former producers, and underground artists, all speaking the truth.

“Jaylen’s lines were his own. Trevin just stole them.”

“He blackmailed newbies and claimed their credits.”

Trevin faltered mid-verse. His own illusions shattered.

Jaylen’s beat shifted to war drums layered with violins. His voice roared over the soundscape.

“You say you built me, but lies don’t last,

Truth is iron, your fame’s just glass.

You stole my journal, line for line,

Now watch me break your crooked spine.

I don’t need a puppet master’s hand,

I built my empire from the sand.

While you were begging, scheming, fake,

I rose, I burned, I won’t forsake.”

As the verse ended, holograms replayed Trevin’s plagiarism in real-time, side-by-side comparisons of Jaylen’s original pages against Trevin’s published “hits.”

The crowd lost it. Cheers drowned out boos. Fans spammed feeds with fire emojis, outrage, and truth bombs.

#TrevinExposed

#TakeBackThePen

“Trevin’s done. His Career is suicide.”

Trevin stood frozen with his mic trembling. The arena’s judgment was absolute.

The Z-Arena declared the result with flashing red letters.

“Face-Slap Complete: Trevin Voss – False Lyricist”

Trevin’s hologram dissolved as boos chased him out. His face was plastered with shame across every feed, every clip.

Jaylen stood victorious, chest heaving. The Zee system buzzed.

“Quest Complete

Reward Earned: +7 Talent

Global Views: +3,000,000 (Rising…)

Unlock: Fan Memory Broadcast – Level1”

The entire world had just witnessed not just a lyrical battle, but the truth engraved into memory.

Jaylen raised the mic. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about every artist who had their voice stolen. Tonight, we take back the pen.”

The crowd roared so loud the arena shook.

As the arena lights dimmed, a silver envelope showed on Jaylen’s Zee dashboard. 

“Invitation: Zenith Circle Gala

“You’ve proven yourself worthy. Now step into the lair.”

Jaylen’s chest tightened. He knew this wasn’t a celebration, it was just a mere trap. The Zenith Circle wasn’t just an elite club. It was the inner sanctum of power that propped up Roman Vale himself.

And stepping inside meant facing enemies far greater than Trevin Voss.

Jaylen clenched his fist around the mic. His eyes narrowed. “So this is it… the next stage.”