Dominate Showbiz: Media Tycoon Discovered My Talent-Chapter 57: Repaying a Favor

Inside the closest bedroom, a cold shiver ran down Karl’s spine.

He’d almost slammed the door earlier when he heard Kaija asking Antony to produce his song, but he’d barely managed to hold himself back. Now Antony could sense he was here? He might as well walk out and fight that cursed producer already.

Back in the living room, all color drained from Kaija’s face. Her shoulders jerked at Antony’s question. "Ho—how could there be anyone else here but us?" she stammered, eyes darting left and right around the room. That damned Karl must’ve left something out in the open, otherwise how did Antony pick up his presence here so fast?

Her panicked reaction didn’t escape Antony’s scrutiny. He stepped forward and pointed directly at the shoe rack. "Then whose shoes are those? I doubt your tiny feet fit that size."

Kaija froze. She didn’t even turn around to look, just smacked her forehead as realization hit. "It’s... it’s, uh... Um... I bought shoes online and they delivered the wrong size, and I haven’t returned them yet..."

"Do I look like a fool to you?" Antony’s tone sharpened, making her shoulders jump.

"No, Instructor," her mouth clamped shut, head lowered. "But it’s not what you think..."

Clack.

The bedroom door opened. Both of them turned toward the sound. Karl stepped out, eyes narrowing with pure contempt the moment they landed on Antony.

For a while the two men just stared, their gazes locked in a quiet showdown as if invisible daggers and arrows were flying between them. Kaija wisely stepped aside and kept her mouth shut. Initiating any unnecessary interference right now might cost her her life.

"What is this punk doing here?" Antony asked, disgust dripping from every word.

"Who are you calling punk, you fucking dictator?" Karl snapped, jabbing a finger at him. "And why the hell are you producing music for this birdie? Did the Production department run out of producers so they shoved a talentless one like you onto her?"

"They have indeed run out of good producers," Antony shot back, voice icy. "As you can see, someone at her level can only work with someone at my level."

"Tsk." Karl sneered. "Right, the great AK who used to turn albums into gold mines. Haven’t you heard? Your time ended the moment you shoved trash pop songs into my albums and forced me to sing that tasteless garbage year after year!"

Antony raised a brow, cool as ever. "And did that tasteless garbage not earn you the title of King of Pop in this country, and the millions of S dollars you’ve pocketed? The songs were good. It was your limited talent that failed to deliver their potential."

THWACK!

Without another word, Karl lunged at Antony. His hand raised into a tight fist and smashed straight into Antony’s face.

On the side, Kaija couldn’t stay still anymore.

"Karl Hanski! What the hell are you doing?!" she screamed as Antony hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Before she could do anything to stop the two mad men, Antony rolled up and launched himself at Karl thanks to his dancer reflexes. He shoved Karl down and pinned him to the ground before slamming a punch into Karl’s baby face.

THWACK!

"You’re a fucking dead man, AK!" Karl growled, thrashing under Antony’s grip. He was ready to punch back, but before he could, Kaija’s voice ripped through the room.

"STOP RIGHT NOW, BOTH OF YOU!"

Both men froze, their fists suspended mid-air.

Reluctantly, Antony released Karl’s shirt and stood up. "Consider yourself lucky today, spoiled brat," he muttered with a sharp, disdainful exhale through his nose.

"Say that again, you fucking—"

"I said stop!" Kaija barked.

Karl’s mouth clamped shut under her murderous glare. He wiped the blood from his lip and pushed himself off the floor. "I’m not giving you my song if you’re working with this bastard," he declared.

"You’re going to compete with his song?" Antony turned to her, disbelief tightening his voice.

"Listen up, both of you!" Kaija snapped. "I appreciate your help, but I’m withdrawing from the competition and forgetting this whole thing. I’m tired. I have a S$250,000 debt to clear within a year, and I don’t have the patience to clean up whatever feud you two have going on. Now please, get out of my place!" She pointed a finger squarely toward the front door, face burning with rage.

Both men stiffened at her authoritative tone. They’d never heard her raise her voice at them like that. And... did she just mention that she had a S$250,000 debt?

"Hey..." Karl raise a hand, voice suddenly small. "You’re... in debt?"

Antony didn’t speak. He just watched her, waiting for an answer.

"It’s a long story..." she said with a heavy sigh. Ten minutes of explaining later, she concluded, "So as you can see, I’m here at KE to clear my debt, not to chase some dream of becoming a superstar. It’s the only choice I’ve got now unless I wanna pay it off by selling every organ on my body or running away to another country."

Karl and Antony exchanged a glance. A slow exhale slipped out of Karl along with his rage, his eyes dropping to her tired face. "You should’ve told me earlier, little birdie," he murmured, giving her head a surprisingly gentle pat. "If I’d known, I would’ve just given you that money. That’s only about what I made on my last album."

She frowned up at him. "But I don’t want that. I want to make my own money and pay it myself. It’s my mess."

"You know what, dummy," Antony said, arms crossed tight, tone serious. "I can write you a song and produce everything within a week. You won’t need this brat’s song."

Karl snapped back immediately, "She needs my song, not your trash pop songs, AK." Then he tousled Kaija’s hair, voice softening. "Alright, birdie. You can let this bastard produce my song. Just make it up to me later."

Kaija shot him a doubtful look, then her gaze slipped to Antony. The way dark storm clouds were still crackling over their heads like right now, she wasn’t exactly feeling positive about any of this.

She sighed, tone lowered, "And what exactly do I have to do to make it up to you?"

"I don’t know yet," Karl shrugged. "If I think of something, I’ll tell you. Just remember that you owe me a favor now."

"Alright, that’s fair then." Then she turned to Antony. "What about you, Instructor? How can I repay you for all this?"

Without hesitation, Antony answered, each word as firm and steady as the look in his eyes, "I want a date with you, dummy."