Dominate Showbiz: Media Tycoon Discovered My Talent-Chapter 60: Karl Hanski

Karl Hanski first stepped into the KE campus at age eighteen, not only with a dream but also with a voice unlike anything anyone had ever heard before.

He had spent his teenage years honing his vocal range day and night so he could master the lowest and highest notes a human could sing. With that towering height, toned figure, and angelic baby face that could defy even the worst camera angles, anyone could tell this young man was destined to become a superstar.

There was only one problem, though. While Karl could sing songs from other artists extremely well, he didn’t know how to write his own songs. Every song he penned got criticized by his songwriting instructors. They said his word choices and rhymes were too jarring, too unconventional, and suggested he let the professional producers write songs for him instead.

He returned to his trainee dorm every night feeling defeated and confused about the path he was on. He had the fire within him, unnamed melodies playing nonstop in his head, along with all the pent-up emotions he had no one to ramble to. And yet, he couldn’t translate them into lyrics, couldn’t match the rhymes to the melodies the way others would accept them.

Music was his first and only love — one he cared about more than all the girls who left him notes at school or any newly released video game. If he was going to become the type of singer who couldn’t even write his own songs, what was the point of pursuing a musical career at all?

Those were the most nightmarish days of his life, until one day he crossed paths with AK.

Only four years older than Karl, AK’s influence at KE was greater than even the best-selling artists at the time. He produced albums for them, turned them into superstars. Karl was a rising star among the trainees, but AK was already a superstar in the music scene in S Country.

That superstar producer just showed up at Karl’s dorm one day without notice. He said he’d seen some footage of Karl singing and was interested in seeing the songs Karl had written.

Karl was surprised, but he wasn’t crazy enough to turn down such a famed producer. That was also the first time in his life he’d heard someone say his work had potential.

Not "you need to make your wording more elegant."

Not "you need to make the rhythm catchier."

But "your lyrics have great potential, Karl Hanski."

Those lyrics eventually became a song called Sociopath on his first album, and it was the first song he and AK worked on together.

Throughout their next five years of making music, not once had AK told him to tone his fire down. On the contrary, AK always told him to turn it up. To blast it all out, let it go, make it even rawer and nastier than it already was.

Karl listened, and it didn’t take long before they became the most famed and successful singer–producer duo in the industry — though most of the glory inevitably went to Karl, being the one under the limelight.

Grateful didn’t even begin to describe how Karl felt during those days. Those were the days when he felt like someone truly understood him, believed in his artistry, and accepted him with all his worst flaws and wildest ideas. Those were the days when Karl felt truly, entirely free. Until one day, AK changed.

"Your fans are the sole reason for your success, Karl," AK told him. "Learn to listen to their ever-changing tastes. Think of what they want to hear, rather than blasting whatever you want to say at them."

"But if I only sing words people want to hear, AK," Karl said, frowning, "won’t I eventually forget what my own voice even sounds like?"

AK went silent. He shoved a stack of lyric papers he’d already written into Karl’s arms, muttering as he left the recording booth, "If no one wants to hear what you have to sing, there’s no point in having your own voice at all."

Karl stared blankly at the meaningless yet catchy lines in his hands. The contract he’d signed with KE stated that any artist was obliged to follow the artistic direction defined by the label and the producer to ensure market success. If an artist produced and released their own songs without approval, any sales failure wouldn’t be tolerated and could lead to breach of contract.

So, for the next five years of his career, Karl Hanski became a pop singer. In those five years, they made more albums together — far more successful than their earlier ones — and yet, album after album, they only fell out more severely.

After the day Karl got himself drunk out of his mind and got into a life-or-death fight with AK, no album came from the golden duo again. AK quit producing altogether and became a dance instructor they all called Antony instead, while Karl got a new producer, who kept shoving more trashy, mushy pop songs down his throat.

Yet Karl no longer cared. He’d achieved everything any artist could ever wish for in their career: touring the grandest cities around the world, winning the most prestigious awards, having millions of girls scream his name.

One show after another felt painfully dull and tastelessly repetitive. None of it mattered anymore. He’d lost the one thing that mattered most — someone who could see through him and accept him for the artist he was.

Well, that was until that insolent, reckless new girl decided to sing the first song he’d penned — not just in front of him, but in front of every other artist at KE that fateful afternoon.

I pour my heart into the verses,

I burn my youth to light the way.

They’re telling me to stop, but I’m already deaf.

A sociopath on a social path.

When was the last time he’d poured his heart into his verses? He’d burned his youth and lit his way, but why had his heart grown numb? People no longer told him to stop, but he’d already wanted to stop.

So why on earth did that girl have to remind him of the fire that once burned so brightly at the depth of his heart? How did she deliver it so truthfully, so wholeheartedly, exactly the way he once felt it?

Now, the girl sat on the couch in his flat, her large blue eyes blown wide as her lips remained completely still under his. Her breath was soft and warm, brushing faintly against his skin, but gradually fading like she was about to pass out from shock.

Even he was in shock. All he knew was that, in the moment she’d spoken the very words he’d felt for years and looked at him the way he’d longed to be seen, he’d wanted to press his lips to hers so badly, so urgently.

His lips started moving, and her lips parted. His tongue slid in, and before he knew it, he’d already pinned her down on the couch.