"I don't think these little tricks can deal with JAY-Z..." Phil muttered softly on the side. He didn't want his precious big ngga to become fertilizer in the black-hearted capitalist's plantation. "Although Diddy's arrest let you win that war by luck, trust me, JAY-Z is much more difficult than him."
JAY-Z is not only the most successful musician of this century but also steadily moving towards the path of upper-class capitalists.
Many people are certain that he will become a figure like David Geffen in the future, the shadow emperor behind the entertainment industry.
Leon shook his head. "I never thought it would be so simple, but that ngga has to understand one truth: consuming me comes with a price."
Just as they were speaking, Ariana walked in accompanied by her brother Frankie.
She didn't seem to know Leon was also present beforehand, showing a happy expression and running over.
"Leon!"
The two hugged each other as if no one else was around, with an intimacy far beyond friendship.
"Thanks to your guidance last time, my inspiration is flowing continuously. I feel like I can finish the creation of my debut album soon!"
Ariana had stars in her eyes, recalling the scene of fighting fiercely with Leon in the recording studio.
Leon curved the corners of his mouth, revealing a playful smile. It turned out that producing inspiration through the tunnel was not Cardi B's exclusive skill.
"Very good, I look forward to your performance in the show."
According to the arrangement of The Rap of America, six flying mentors (guest judges) will join to help the contestants sing in the last recorded episode.
Finally, three contestants will be decided to enter the live broadcast of the finals.
The champion has long been internally decided, and inviting big-name flying mentors is purely for hype.
The currently confirmed lineup includes Dre, Ariana, and Kendrick. Whether Eminem will join is still unknown.
Considering the pay issue, Leon turned his attention to those old-school singers who had passed their prime. With the recommendation of Columbia Records, DMX entered his vision.
This hardcore rapper's voice is extremely aggressive, with beast-like roaring, and his lyrics are full of violence and religious repentance.
Around the millennium, he was as popular as superstars like Eminem and Usher.
Under the destruction of drugs and pssy, he inevitably moved towards the standard ending for black singers.
He packaged and sold the copyrights of all his works during his peak period to Seven Arts Entertainment and is now worrying about owing the IRS $1.7 million in taxes.
Now, it only takes $100,000 to get this rap superstar who was once on par with JAY-Z and Diddy.
Ariana batted her long eyelashes and whispered: "Can I discuss something with you..."
"What is it?"
"I don't want to sing Señorita in the show anymore. Can I perform the new song I wrote?"
"I might have to consider this."
Leon hesitated. She indeed showed impressive musical talent and wrote many potential works.
But judging from the effect shown by the demos, none compared to Señorita.
Ariana hugged Leon's arm and rubbed it back and forth against her chest. "Please give me this chance, let me prove my ability; I won't let you down!"
Saying that, she turned to look at Frankie. "Send the demo of the new song to Leon later."
"Let me listen to it first..." Leon perfunctorily said, actually not interested at all in his heart.
There is no shadow of an album yet, and wanting to perform new works when they are still in the semi-finished stage is basically a negative return.
From the perspective of a record company boss, he only considers maximizing his own interests.
With the influence of the show, the sales of Señorita will definitely rise against the trend.
"Just agree with me, okay..." Ariana's eyes shone with light, looking pitiful and hard to resist.
But unfortunately, the coquettish tactic is useless in front of a cold-blooded animal.
"I said I would consider it, but don't get your hopes up too high..."
While speaking, Leon's phone rang. He took this opportunity to escape quickly. "I have other work. Good luck; I'm optimistic about your performance in the show."
Ignoring her resistant look, he forcibly ruffled Ariana's hair.
"Why do you always refuse to believe me..." Ariana watched Leon's back as he walked away, tears swirling in her eyes.
Leon answered the phone while getting into the business van.
Conor's piercing voice came from the phone: "Boss! I've arrived in New York! The Irish barbarian is here; I want to spread the violent gospel for Street Jesus and kick the asses of American sissies!"
"Do you always speak so loudly..." Leon frowned. He could fully imagine the disdainful gazes everyone at JFK International Airport was casting at this hillbilly right now.
"Sorry... I really can't wait. I want to get into the octagon immediately, beat up sissies while counting money!"
"I'll send you an address; come see me now."
"Yes, my King!"
"Fxxk, this kid is full of drama..." After hanging up the phone, Leon couldn't help but complain. Conor seemed to live in his own fantasy script every moment.
Thinking from another angle, he lived with a strong sense of conviction.
An hour later, that piercing voice sounded again downstairs at Apocalypse Music.
Leon walked to the window and followed the sound. Conor was posing in Bruce Lee's fighting stance, gesturing with Jorge and a group of Mexicans.
While extending his arm to measure the distance, he provoked: "Look at you guys, you really look like a gang of thugs."
"Don't stare at me with those eyes. In the octagon, I once smashed the heads of Chechen bastards, let alone you damn Mexicans!"
Facing the provocation, Jorge and his group remained expressionless, staring at Conor as if looking at an idiot.
"This guy." Leon stood by the window, shaking his head with a smile.
Just as the background information said, Conor's troublemaking nature was indiscriminate.
In Ireland, he could face off against drugged-up black giants in the octagon, and also beat up a seventy-year-old man in a bar for no reason.
A typical Irish hooligan.
"Enough, stop showing off, come up quickly." Leon shouted downstairs.
"You guys are lucky; the boss is calling me. We have big business to discuss!" Saying that, he didn't forget to give Jorge and his group the middle finger.
As soon as he entered the office, Conor praised the rows of golden trophies along the wall like a hillbilly who had never seen the world.
The display cabinet not only contained the two Grammy trophies Leon won but also all the platinum record plaques Apocalypse Music had harvested so far.
"Are these made of real gold..." Conor wanted to reach out and touch the gramophone trophy, but suddenly shrank back as if thinking of something.
Leon stared at him expressionlessly; it turned out he wasn't completely brainless.
"What would you like to drink? How about coffee?"
"I don't drink that stuff." Conor's gaze aimed at the wine cabinet. "Look, you have so many wonderful whiskies here. In Ireland, we grew up drinking this stuff."
"No problem." Leon got up and chose a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cabinet. "I heard athletes are prohibited from drinking; this will affect your competitive state."
Conor chuckled. "That's just an excuse for talentless bastards to exonerate themselves. Alcohol is the fuel of life. Our ancestors, the Celts, would soak newborn babies in strong liquor. If the child couldn't survive, it proved they couldn't become a real warrior."
Leon was skeptical about such bragging stories; anyway, this guy was always full of nonsense.
"I have already negotiated with Dana. You will get a UFC contract, including three fights, a base appearance fee of $5,000, a win bonus of $5,000, and bonuses calculated separately. What do you think?"
"WTF? $5,000?"
Conor almost dropped his jaw.
When he first heard this number on the phone, he was a little shocked. In his impression, athletes were high-income groups, and those top athletes earned no less than singers, or even more.
Soccer's Ronaldo, basketball's Jordan, golf's Tiger Woods...
Their income in the music scene could probably only be matched by superstars like Michael Jackson.
According to Dana's explanation, the basic contract of the UFC is just this much.
Boxing organizations are the same; a small group of top fighters take more than 90% of the income.
Typical winner-takes-all.
If the UFC didn't fully reimburse the fighters' medical bills after the fight, just going to the hospital once could make the fighter work for free for a year.
But Conor did not express dissatisfaction with this income, gearing up and saying, "I am very satisfied. Within a year, I will finish the three fights in the contract, and then Dana will send me a big contract. I will make you a lot of money, Boss!"
"You have a lot of drive..." Leon held back his laughter. Even if such income increased a hundred times, it was not a scary number.
For UFC champion-level fighters, the appearance fee is roughly around $200,000.
Unless it is a superstar with his own traffic like Brock Lesnar, even if he fights well, it is difficult for the appearance fee to exceed one million dollars.
This is different from the boxing industry. Boxing champions of the level of Mayweather or Tyson can easily get tens of millions of dollars in appearance fees, and there is also high commercial value outside the venue.
Leon only regarded Conor as a springboard to enter the sports field. The ultimate goal was consistent with Roc Nation: the NBA, NFL, and even the five major European football leagues.
If he makes it, great; if not, let him switch careers to do stand-up comedy on T-Ray's show.
If he still can't make it, let him roll back to Ireland to continue fixing water pipes. Anyway, it's just a matter of a few hundred dollars for a plane ticket.
"On the 10th of next month, I will go to Las Vegas, to the scene of the BMF title fight." Leon said, "This will be the biggest UFC fight this year. Dana agreed to arrange a prelim fight for you that night."
"Great! I can't wait!"
"Just stay in the US to prepare for the fight during this time, and maintain a good state." Saying that, Leon called Marco in.
Marco nodded to Leon fawningly as soon as he entered the room, then quickly switched expressions, throwing the contract in front of Conor like throwing garbage.
Holding the precious big ngga King Von in his hand, he was naturally not interested in a third-rate fighter.
The frivolous behavior immediately invited Conor's dissatisfaction. "Fxxk, is this your attitude facing the future king of mixed martial arts?"
Just as Marco was about to retort, he was stopped by Leon raising his hand. "Enough, I don't have time to listen to you spray trash talk here. Look at the contract content quickly; if there is no problem, you can sign it."
Conor picked up the contract, showing an attitude completely different from before, serious like a university professor.
He read the two-page contract for fully ten minutes, and the further down he looked, the more wrong his expression became. "20% agent commission? This doesn't conform to industry rules at all!"
"Contract period of six years, no signing fee... Do you want me to sell myself like a slave?"
Leon spread his hands and explained: "You forgot that I still have to pay for your coaching team... I contacted the best gym for you, Team Alpha Male; you should have heard this name."
Hearing this, Conor breathed a sigh of relief.
With an appearance fee of $5,000 per fight, if he also had to pay for the coaching team and agent fees, he would starve to death if he didn't work part-time as a plumber.
Even so, he was still unwilling, trying to make a final strive on the contract term.
But Leon didn't give him a chance, raising his hand to look at his watch to pressure him. "Enough, don't waste my time. Not a single punctuation mark in the contract content will be changed. If you want to give up this opportunity, you can go. This time I won't provide you with airfare money... You might have to swim across the Atlantic back to Ireland."
Conor hung his head, completely lacking the arrogant dominance just now.
A penny stumps a Celtic hero; in the current predicament, he had no choice.
"Okay..." He gritted his teeth and signed his name on the contract, silently complaining in his heart that this boss was stingier than the British royal family.
Leon accepted the contract with satisfaction. "You can go now."
"Go? Where to?"
Conor scratched his head. Just now a lion with high ambitions, now he became a pet ordered around.
"Team Alpha Male base. Marco will prepare the ticket to Sacramento for you."
"Okay..."
Conor remained nailed to the sofa, reluctant to move his butt. After a minute of silence, he summoned up the courage to say: "Boss, where should I live in Sacramento..."
For a ticket to the United States, he had spent everything. If he didn't get financial aid, he could only squeeze with the homeless.
"Marco will arrange a hotel for you." Saying that, Leon asked Bonnie to bring a pile of sportswear for Conor to take away.
Since signing with Adidas, there were so many free sportswear that the closet couldn't fit them.
"Thank you, Boss..." Conor accepted the gift with a bitter smile. He originally thought he could receive a considerable signing fee and then dive into the Gucci store.
Now it seems not every singer is generous.
Before leaving, a sentence from Leon reignited his hope. "Prove to me in a month how much value you are worth... If you can KO your opponent, I will give you an extra bounty."
Even the small fry fighters in the UFC are champions of other national leagues. Generally speaking, only by winning all three fights can the contract be renewed 100%.
Investment pays attention to the return rate. If he can't even handle the first fight, Leon will lose interest in paying attention to his subsequent development.
"No matter who the opponent is, I will twist his head off hard!" Inspired by the bounty, sparks burst from Conor's eyes.
Six days later, The Rap of America aired on Netflix.
Within 24 hours of the show's launch, it topped Netflix's US chart and ranked high in statistics in multiple regions globally.
The number of views broke through 4 million in a short time. If this trend continues, it will only take one more day to meet the condition for activating Clause B in the contract.
At the same time, this show also set off a discussion craze on social media. Titles such as King Von, Kardashian, and the complex grievances between JAY-Z and Leon became popular tags.
The success of an online variety show inevitably met with criticism from traditional media, believing that this show was too vulgar, incited conflict, and created topics to attract attention.
Netflix quickly launched a money offensive, producing a large number of soft articles (advertorials) in the media, praising this show blindly in various ways.
In the polarized vortex of reviews, the views of the show grew higher and higher.
Inside the Lion's Den Media office, a group of management gathered around the computer to watch The Rap of America; this was already the third viewing today.
Everyone held a wine glass in their hand, celebrating while summarizing lessons learned.
Phil was dead drunk, holding his phone and walking to Leon. "Look, someone can't sit still. JAY-Z posted a new tweet; it seems the success of this show makes him very uneasy."
Tweet content: "History always repeats itself. Success stolen by betrayal and lies is only temporary. Those who play with swords will die by the sword. Time will prove everything."
Although the wording was refined, a sense of weirdness (sarcasm) was obvious between the lines—JAY-Z was anxious.
Leon didn't want to miss a bit of heat, took out his phone, pondered for a while, and sent a tweet: "I don't need to prove anything to a Loser because I am creating history."