Rise of the Zillionaire Star

Chapter 62: Redemption Stream

The stream went live.

Darkness filled the digital stage as there came an absence of spotlight and a deafening silence that stretched across millions of devices. 

Then, a single beam cut through, illuminating Jaylen. He stood alone with the mic in his hand. His heart squared though the weight of a thousand doubts pressed against him.

Behind him, the holographic wall started playing. On it were lines of text, snippets of audio and flashing usernames pulled straight from the system cache.

 They weren’t fabricated and weren’t PR-manipulated. It was a raw and unfiltered message from his fans.

The silence broke when he spoke up in a steady, low and deliberate voice. 

“They say I left a note. That I wanted to give up. That the fire burned me out. But tonight… I’m not going to read their lies. I am going to read the truth.”

The first hologram came into view.  It projected the  letters in the dark.

“Jaylen, your music kept me from giving up.”

The crowd watching from homes, streets, and even public squares across the country held their breath.

A teenager’s recorded voice played next. It was  shaky although sincere, “When no one else listened, your lyrics did the magic. You don’t know me, but you saved me.”

Jaylen paused, letting it sink into the crowd watching. His eyes glinted  beneath the light. The system fed more into the hologram reel.

“Your courage gave me mine.”

“Because of your song, I told my parents I wanted to live.”

Every line from the fans cut through the fabricated suicide note Trevin and Delilah had staged. And as its comments went on and on, the note shredded like an ash in a fire. The falsehood they had planted finally crumbled and replaced by the  undeniable human truth.

The chat bar on the live stream began going viral. At first, there were hecklers, bots and strings of “FAKE FAKE FAKE.” But then, the movement shifted.

“#JaylenSavedMe

#TruthOverLies

#AliveBecauseOfJaylen”

Trending hashtags burst upward. It started climbing the digital ranks at breakneck speed.

Zee’s crisp and energy filled voice pulsed into his earpiece,  “Engagement spike: 300 percent. Negative ratio collapsing. Sentiment trending positive.”

Jaylen exhaled slowly, gripping the mic tighter. He read another message, 

“My brother was gone, and I thought I would follow him. But your song, ‘Rise From the Ashes’ made me hold on for one more night. That night turned into a year. That year turned into my life right now.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t let it break his tone. He let the weight of the words vibrate across the stage.

The camera panned to his raw and unwavering expression. The lie that he had given up dissolved in real time. The world was seeing it that the artist accused of breaking under fame was the same one pulling others out of their darkest corners.

……..

……

Somewhere across the network, Trevin Vale sat in his glossy streaming studio. His arms were crossed and he had a sneer plastered across his face. Beside him was Delilah Knox. She leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes frequently.

 “This is pathetic,” Trevin scoffed on his livestream overlay. “These are staged messages and manipulated sympathy. Fame made him soft, and now he’s parading fake sob stories.”

Delilah smirked, leaning into her mic.. “C’mon, people. Do you really think a washed-up fraud like him suddenly has saints lining up in his comments?”

But their laughter faltered when social feeds began to tilt. Trending boards that had once read #JaylenLost flipped instantly.

#JaylenSavedMe rocketed into global charts.

#TruthOverLies overtook every sponsored trend Trevin had bought.

Zee’s voice spiked again,  “Counterattack initiated. Bot infiltration attempt detected.”

The chat feed glitched for a moment, threatening to drown the narrative. Waves of “FAKE is scripted and a fraud.” But Zee sliced through the interference. The system  firewalled the bots before they could overrun the stage.

 “The flood blocked ninety-five percent of engagement verified organic,” Zee confirmed.

Trevin slammed his desk, gritting his teeth. His fake sympathy campaign, the suicide smear he thought would bury Jaylen was already backfiring in front of the entire industry.

Jaylen steadied himself. The messages continued to stream in, but he had saved the sharpest blade for the last strike. 

The big screen finally turned into one single letter. The handwriting was a bit messy. The ink was blotched by his tears.

Jaylen’s voice lowered, carrying a different weight now.

 “This one… I have kept it for years. Tonight, it’s time to share it with the world.”

He unfolded the projection.

‘Dear Jaylen,

I wanted to die last winter. I even wrote a note. But before I left, I played your song. And something in the lyrics told me to stay. You didn’t know me, but you saved me. And if you are reading this, thank you for giving me a reason to live.’

The live audience, scattered across cities, stadiums, and living rooms, fell silent because of Jaylen's impact in people's lives. 

Jaylen looked up, eyes glistening with the fire burning in his soul. 

 “So tell me, Trevin. Tell me again how I wrote my own note. Because the only notes I have ever written… are the ones that keep people alive.” He asked a definite question. 

The crowd erupted with shouts, applause, and digital fireworks across the feeds. Some people even cried. Some screamed his name. Others simply typed, over and over,

“#JaylenSavedMe

#JaylenSavedMe

#JaylenSavedMe”

Even critics who had once mocked him were tweeting their reversal. Because they were shaken by the authenticity of the moment.

The system’s lens beeped with a bright pulse only Jaylen could see.

“System Prompt: Quest Complete - Redemption Stream.

Rewards: +7 Talent, +5 Z-Credits. Reputation Spike: “Phoenix Icon” Trait Unlocked.”

The words seared into his HUD. He had done it not with corporate lawyers, not with contracts or sponsors, but with raw humanity.

The national ticker of FameArena blazed across every major broadcast,

“Breaking: Jaylen Cruz shortlisted for Z-Arena Finals.”

Trevin’s reaction was broadcast on a split-screen feed. His face drained pale.  The intense anger within him twisted his features as if the world itself had slapped him. Delilah shrank back, sensing the tide had turned beyond recovery.

Jaylen didn’t shout. He didn’t gloat. He simply bowed his head, then bowed to the audience watching worldwide.

And when he stepped back from the mic, he left the voices of his fans playing thousands of saved clips, letters, and confessions echoing across the stream.

 “Your words saved me.”

“You gave me a reason to breathe.”

“Because of you, I’m still here.”

That chorus was louder than anything he could have said himself.

Zee whispered in his ear, “Stream metrics locked. Crisis reversal complete. Congratulations, Jaylen. You are trending not as a fraud but as a savior.”

The stream ended after a few minutes. Screens turned to black. The feeds went down, and the world continued to talk about Jaylen coming into the spotlight. 

But right in a private high-rise suite.  Another figure leaned against the brightness of the same broadcast. 

Roman Vale, Trevin’s older brother, the one they called The Director smiled coldly as he sipped his glass.

 “Let him rise,” Roman murmured as his voice dripped in cold venom. “The higher he climbs, the harder the fall. And when I cut the strings, he will crash louder than anyone before him.”

The broadcast ended with that lingering smile on his face. Anybody who would see Roman’s face would already know that he is orchestrating evil.