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The next day, the atmosphere inside Rex's apartment was strangely electric. For the first time, the band wasn't there to rehearse or record. They were gathered for a meeting—something far more serious and unexpected.
Samuel Owen, the music agent who had stumbled upon their videos, was coming over.
Rex paced the small living room nervously, repeatedly glancing at the clock.
Ash sat casually on the couch, his guitar resting next to him, though even he wasn't strumming absentmindedly like usual. "So… this guy legit? Or are we being catfished?"
"He's real," Rex said. "Been in the music business for two decades. He reached out through email—super professional. He didn't make any promises, just said he wanted to talk. That alone means something."
Kai leaned against the window, arms folded. "If he's got 20 years of experience and he's still struggling, I don't know if that's good or bad."
Silas, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugged. "Let's at least hear him out. We're not signing our souls to the devil—yet."
A knock came at the door.
Rex opened it to find a man in his early 40s, wearing a leather jacket that had clearly seen better days. His dark brown hair was starting to grey at the temples, and fine lines etched the corners of his eyes. But his posture was confident, and his eyes were sharp—alive.
"Samuel Owen?" Rex asked.
"Call me Sam," the man replied, stepping in and shaking Rex's hand firmly. "Thanks for letting me drop by."
The band nodded politely. Sam took a quick look around the apartment and let out a faint chuckle.
"Reminds me of the kind of places I used to crash at when I was your age—tight, but full of dreams."
"Can I get you anything?" Rex offered.
"Just your time," Sam said, sitting down. "Let's cut to it."
He looked each of them in the eye before continuing.
"I've worked with all kinds of musicians—pop stars, wannabes, even one viral sensation who crashed just as quickly as he rose. But you guys? You've got something I haven't seen in a long time. Authenticity. Real grit. When I heard The Four Horsemen, I stopped what I was doing. Then I played Seek and Destroy... and I couldn't stop nodding my head."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And I want in," Sam said simply. "I'm not promising fame overnight. I don't have some big label backing me. But I know the industry, and I know how to push. I want to help you build. Help you plan shows, merch, maybe even a debut album. The works."
Ash leaned forward. "What's in it for you?"
"Same thing that's in it for you. A shot," Sam replied. "I haven't represented anyone I believed in for years. you can be the first of something new. I want to help make that happen."
There was a long pause.
Silas scratched his bald head. "You're not gonna try to change our sound or push us to do pop covers or something?"
"Hell no," Sam said, smiling. "Your sound is exactly why I'm here. Don't change a thing."
Rex studied the man carefully. "Why now? Why us?"
Sam's voice softened. "Because I've been watching the industry rot from the inside. Manufactured stars, meaningless lyrics. And then I heard you—raw, angry, alive. I felt something again. And I thought: Maybe this is my last shot, too."
Rex glanced at the others. Ash gave him a nod. Kai was unreadable but silent. Silas raised a hand and gave a thumbs-up.
Rex extended his hand across the coffee table.
"Alright, Sam. Let's make something unforgettable."
Sam shook it firmly, his grin wide. "Damn right."
They talked for hours after that—marketing ideas, fan engagement, small venue circuits around Brooklyn. Sam even offered to introduce them to a few trusted sound engineers if they wanted a more polished production later on.
But through it all, Rex kept one thing to himself.
The System.
No one knew, not even Sam. Not even his bandmates. And that was how it needed to stay—for now.
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