Marcus Thorne had not slept.
In the forty-eighth-floor office of Titan Management, the city lights below looked smaller than usual—dimmer, less obedient. His desk was cluttered with tablets, phones, and printed analytics sheets, all screaming the same truth at him.
The Phoenix was winning.
Not slowly.Not subtly.
Decisively.
Marcus loosened his tie and replayed the performance again, his face carved from stone as Avery's voice filled the room.
"…when it crumbles, we will stand tall…"
His hand tightened.
Click.
He stopped the video.
"This isn't supposed to happen," he muttered.
Titan Management controlled distribution. Controlled platforms. Controlled critics. Controlled narratives. For decades, nothing entered the mainstream without passing through his hands.
And yet—
A masked singer had bypassed everything.
No contracts.No leverage.No control.
Worse—she was pulling audiences away.
Channel 9's ratings had surged by 300% in a single night. Advertisers were scrambling. Sponsors who had ignored the network for years were suddenly calling back, offering premium slots.
All because of one singer.
Marcus picked up his phone and dialed a number he rarely needed to use.
The line connected after one ring.
"Mr. Thorne," a nervous voice answered. "Good evening."
"Spare me the pleasantries," Marcus said coldly. "I want the Phoenix gone."
On the other end of the line, the producer of The Masked Legend swallowed hard. He was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and permanent dark circles under his eyes—someone who had survived in the industry by knowing exactly when to bow.
"By the next round," Marcus continued. "I don't care how."
The producer hesitated. "S-she's the highest-rated contestant we've ever had. If we eliminate her unfairly—"
Marcus cut him off.
"Cut her mic."
The words landed like a knife.
"Mess with her ear monitor. Introduce static. Delay the backing track. Or—" Marcus's voice dropped, venomous and precise, "—leak a fake identity."
The producer's breath hitched.
"Something scandalous," Marcus went on calmly. "Something that makes the public turn on her. An old criminal record. A disgraced former singer. I don't care. Fabricate it if you have to."
He leaned back in his chair.
"If she stays, Channel 9 beats our ratings."
Silence stretched on the line.
The producer knew what that meant.
If Channel 9 won, Titan lost control.
If Titan lost control, careers would end.
Including his.
"I… I understand," the producer finally said, voice trembling. "Consider it done, Mr. Thorne."
Marcus hung up without another word.
He stared at the dark screen of his phone, jaw tight.
"You should have stayed dead," he murmured.
Across the city, in a cramped basement apartment, Avery Rivers sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed.
She wasn't watching trends.
She wasn't reading comments.
She was listening.
[System Function: Threat Detection — Active.][Warning: Malicious Interference Probability: High.][Source: Titan Management.]
Her lips curved faintly.
"So," she whispered, "they've chosen sabotage."
The System unfolded a translucent interface before her eyes—lines of probability branching like veins. Red markers pulsed over the logo of The Masked Legend.
[Predicted Actions:]• Audio interference• Equipment malfunction• False identity leak• Psychological disruption
Avery opened her eyes.
Cold.Clear.Unshaken.
"They still think this is a normal stage," she said softly.
She reached out and tapped one of the glowing options.
[System Shop Accessed.][Available Skill: Absolute Pitch Lock (Temporary).][Effect: Immune to audio distortion and timing interference.][Cost: 8,000 Prestige.]
"Purchase."
[Confirmed.]
Another option flashed.
[Item Available: Truth Anchor (One-Time Use).][Effect: Prevents false narratives from taking hold during live broadcasts.]
Avery smiled wider.
"Purchase that too."
[Confirmed.]
She stood up, rolling her shoulders, feeling the familiar calm settle into her bones—the Ice Queen aura steady and unyielding.
Marcus Thorne was making his move.
Good.
That meant he was scared.
And scared men made mistakes.
Avery walked to the table and picked up the Phoenix mask, running her fingers lightly over the crimson feathers.
"Go ahead," she said quietly, as if speaking directly to him. "Cut my mic. Break my monitor. Lie to the world."
Her eyes burned with quiet fire.
"I'll still sing."
Outside, the city hummed, unaware that the next round of The Masked Legend would not be a performance.
It would be a battlefield.