Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Park knew CJ was still suspicious of him.

Of course she was:

Some guy she had properly met less than an hour ago had sat on the floor with her, written two songs in about thirty minutes, handed her several more, then casually proposed a lifetime arrangement where he would keep creating music for her without taking a single Cel from her or NX Arc and his only real conditions were secrecy, a contract, and the rather insane little detail that once she became his musical partner, she stayed his musical partner.

Yeah.

Park could understand why that sounded suspicious as fuck.

’I simply do not care.’

CJ could spend the next week staring at the ceiling wondering whether he secretly wanted her kidney. As long as she eventually put her signature on the contract, kept their arrangement hidden, and sang his songs, she could suspect him all she wanted.

The funny thing was that she had actually been right about one part.

If the secret ever came out, Park’s name probably would explode.

Imagine it: CJ becomes some giant superstar one day, song after song going platinum, charts bending around every release, people screaming her lyrics in arenas, critics writing essays about the mysterious genius behind her writing, only for everyone to discover years later that Nathaniel Park had secretly created the whole damn catalogue.

The internet would lose its mind.

The industry would probably lose theirs harder.

And Park?

’I genuinely could not give less of a fuck.’

Even before the System, before this ridiculous second life and the system had gifted him magical abilities and impossible talent packages, Park had always been a proud motherfucker. Maybe too proud sometimes.

’Definitely too proud sometimes.’

But one thing that pride had given him was an almost stupid certainty about himself whenever he knew he was good at something.

He did not need strangers to confirm it for him.

He did not need ten million people screaming genius beneath a post so he could wake up the next morning and finally believe he had talent.

If Park created something incredible, he knew it was incredible.

Simple.

He could sell songs for millions if he wanted. He could also hear somebody offer those same millions, decide he disliked their face, and tell them to fuck off before giving the song to somebody else for free because he liked how they sang.

’My creations... my own rules.’

That was the privilege Park actually wanted.

Not having every damn decision dragged through what everybody else thought he should do with his own talent.

So what exactly would revealing CJ’s secret someday give him?

Money?

He intended to make obscene amounts of that himself.

Fame?

’Please.’

He was nineteen, looked like somebody had cheated during character creation, had acting abilities that were already ready to start opening doors, a voice that had just made two talented women forget how breathing normally worked, and enough ambition to eventually make the word famous sound embarrassingly small.

Park was getting his own fame; he didn’t need to climb onto CJ’s shoulders after helping her reach somewhere high and yell, "Surprise, everybody, I actually built the ladder!"

That sounded fucking pathetic.

No. What he had found with CJ was almost exactly what Park had always wanted without realizing he wanted it:

’Someone I could pull upward with me while I am climbing up myself.

No shoving somebody else off the ladder because there was supposedly only room for one talented person at the top or cannibalizing another person’s career because he wanted everything for himself. Park could build his own acting career, build his own music career, become whatever monster he intended to become, and still turn around and drag someone else into the clouds with him.

’Especially insanely someone talented like CJ.’

The thought alone made his fingers itch for the notebook again, unfortunately he didnt have it on him.

Giving her something he had created, hearing what her voice did to it, then watching that song grow beyond the room where he had first scribbled it down? Seeing it reach the charts, maybe top them, then sitting there knowing he’d already made something even better because CJ had forced him to rethink what better meant?

That excited him more than some article calling him a genius.

Because CJ could challenge him without ever directly competing with him.

Every time she mastered something he gave her, Park would have to ask himself what came next.

Higher?

Softer?

Stranger?

A genre she had never touched?

A song built around a part of her voice neither of them knew existed yet?

If she made one ballad perfect, then the next one couldn’t just be another slightly prettier ballad. If she conquered dark pop, he would have to find some new sound. If her range improved, his compositions could become harder. If her emotional delivery became better, he could write more delicate material without worrying she would flatten it.

CJ getting better would force him to get better too.

That was the part nobody outside their little arrangement would ever understand.

Park wasn’t giving his songs away.

He was investing them in a singer capable of forcing more songs out of him.

And, okay, there was one tiny ambition growing inside his head now that he had actually heard her sing.

’Make CJ huge.’

No.

’Huge sounds cheap.’

Park wanted to turn her into the kind of artist where eventually discussions about the greatest female singer in the Empire became boring because everyone already knew whose name was coming first.

’A queen.’

And if the world ever learnt about him too if he started releasing his music too?

Well...

Park grinned to himself.

Let’s be fucking real.

He was exceptional.

There was no humble little speech hiding behind that. He genuinely did not know anybody better than himself right now, and unless somebody appeared and proved otherwise, Park saw absolutely no reason to pretend.

Lucky for CJ, she was a woman.

If she’d been another ridiculously beautiful nineteen-year-old male singer with an impossible voice and songs capable of eating charts alive, Park might have eventually developed a competitive illness and started waking up at four in the morning purely out of spite.

But CJ?

Different lanes.

Same kingdom.

If everything went the way Park could already imagine it going, the industry wouldn’t spend years asking which one of them was better.

They’d spend years trying to keep both names out of the top spots at the same time.

’King and queen.’

Now that sounded fun.

Park’s smile faded into something more thoughtful as another realization arrived.

"Fuck, I don’t know how far Lucky is going to take me."

Because there was absolutely no way that trait had nothing to do with this.

’Thirty percent maybe?’

Park would comfortably give Lucky thirty percent of the blame for today.

He had met MJ first, then somehow MJ happened to have a twin sister with exactly the problem NX Arc’s new rules had created overnight, then that sister also happened to possess a voice good enough to impress him and right then the System mission offered one of the stupidest long-term reward structures he had seen so far, MJ had practically walked up and placed CJ in his hands.

’Coincidence can kiss my ass.’

Without him, CJ might still have succeeded. Park wasn’t arrogant enough to pretend her entire future depended on his arrival:

’A voice like hers would eventually get signed and top charts just the same way.’

But what happened afterward?

Maybe another agency gave her songs.

Maybe she waited months for each good one.

Maybe her first composer ran dry after two years.

Maybe another lasted five.

Maybe she spent half her career begging producers to understand what kind of singer she actually was while they kept handing her whatever song had been rejected by somebody more famous.

She’ll become successful anyway.

Or maybe she became one of those artists everyone remembered by saying, Damn, she had such an amazing voice. What happened to her?

Now she wouldn’t have to find out.

Lucky had apparently looked at Park, looked at CJ, looked at the System mission and gone:

"Here. Have the next queen of music."

’On a silver platter... thank you very fucking much.’

And then the System had sweetened the deal even further.

Ten percent of verified gross music revenue for qualifying songs.

Talent Essence every year; a singer who could push his composition farther simply by becoming better herself.

Park almost felt bad:

If destiny wanted to spoil him, who was he to start developing principles now?

He slowed.

Whatever amusement had been sitting on his face gradually settled.

CJ could think about contracts and secret songs for now.

Park had something else to handle.

He lifted one hand and knocked.

A voice came from the other side.

"Enter."

Park’s smile returned:

Now it was time to make NX Arc lose its fucking mind.

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