I am the Entertainment Tycoon

The anticipation outside the five-star hotel in Catadrid was electric, as media outlets and fans crowded behind the cordoned-off area, waiting for the arrival of Moonlight. The artist had captivated the world with his enigmatic persona and mesmerizing voice, yet no one had ever seen his true face. His debut concert was less than twelve hours away, and the city had come alive with excitement. This hotel, one of many towering icons of modern luxury in Catadrid, was rumored to be the sanctuary where Moonlight would stay and prepare for the performance that would mark his first live appearance. The proximity of the hotel to the venue where Moonlight would perform later that night only made the rumors even stronger.

It was Saturday morning, the sun casting a golden hue over the skyline, illuminating the hotel's sleek glass façade. Paparazzi cameras glinted as they hovered at the barricades, their lenses trained on the grand entrance where security personnel, in dark suits and sunglasses, maintained a firm perimeter. They were vigilant, knowing the gravity of the moment. The hotel staff, too, were meticulously prepared, their movements efficient and calm as they managed the arrival of high-profile guests without breaking stride. But today, there was a special urgency in their pace-a shared, unspoken understanding that something larger than usual was happening.

Behind the fences, fans jostled for the best view, some clutching banners emblazoned with Moonlight's name or the lyrics of his songs. There was an undeniable energy among them, a mixture of eagerness and anxiety. For many, seeing Moonlight in person, even if only a glimpse, was a dream they had nurtured since the release of his debut album, Earth to Azure. He had not just created music; he had created a sensation. His haunting melodies, rich with emotion, seemed to speak directly to the souls of his listeners, and his mysterious aura had only heightened their fascination.

In the crowd, conversations buzzed as fans shared their theories about Moonlight's identity.

"I heard he's from Sakura City originally, but moved to Catadrid to pursue music," one fan speculated, her voice thick with excitement.

Another fan shook her head. "No way, I read an article that said he's not even from this continent. People think he's from the Bald Eagle Country."

"Does it really matter where he's from?" another fan chimed in. "It's his music that matters, and it's perfect. I just hope we get a good look at him today."

The media, too, had their own questions. Journalists tapped away at their keyboards, sending updates to their networks, some live-tweeting the build-up while others prepared for the inevitable scramble once Moonlight appeared. Camera crews adjusted their equipment, making sure they were ready to capture the first frame of his arrival.

"Word is, his team rented out the entire top floor," one reporter murmured into a mic, standing near the barricade with her cameraman at her side. "We've also heard that his stylist and agent have been making preparations since early this morning."

Even though there was no official confirmation, the assumption that Moonlight would be staying here had spread like wildfire. It was as if the very air around the hotel pulsed with the possibility of his arrival. Every flicker of movement at the hotel entrance brought a surge of hope. The black-suited security, who had been stationed there for hours, exchanged brief words into their earpieces, their faces impassive but alert.

For now, the fans and reporters had only the sight of sleek, luxury cars pulling in and out, ferrying guests and VIPs, none of whom garnered much attention compared to the person they were waiting for. As the minutes ticked by, anticipation thickened, palpable in the warm spring air. More fans arrived, drawn by the chatter and the rumors, their faces hopeful, some clutching their phones to stream live feeds to their followers.

"I've been waiting since 6 AM," a girl said breathlessly to a friend, her eyes bright with determination. "I don't care if I have to wait all day, I will see him."

As the hours dragged closer to noon, even the seasoned journalists, usually unshakable in their professionalism, began to show signs of impatience. Their fingers drummed on notebooks, and whispered conversations among them filled the space as they speculated about how Moonlight would make his grand entrance. Would he be escorted by a fleet of black cars, hidden behind tinted windows? Or would he walk out, masked as always, and offer the world the rarest of moments-his presence, if only for a fleeting second?

Just then, a ripple of movement swept through the crowd. One of the security guards, stationed further down the road, stepped into position, his stance rigid. He pressed his earpiece closer, his eyes scanning the horizon. Fans strained on tiptoes, craning their necks to catch sight of what was happening.

A murmur started to build, growing louder by the second. The journalists, alerted by the sudden shift, stood at the ready, cameras pointed toward the entrance. A low hum of engines cut through the air. It wasn't the sharp roar of sports cars or the steady thrum of luxury sedans. It was deeper, more commanding the sound of a van approaching.

The crowd collectively held its breath as a sleek, black van pulled up in front of the hotel entrance, its tinted windows glinting in the sunlight. The doors remained closed for a moment that felt like an eternity, the van idling as if deciding whether or not to reveal its secrets. Fans gasped, phones shot up into the air, cameras flashed in rapid succession.

This was it. It had to be him.

Excitement surged, and a chorus of voices filled the air-some shouting Moonlight's name, others gasping in awe, while a few whispered their disbelief. The anticipation reached a fever pitch as the black van came to a stop right at the edge of the red carpet that had been rolled out for the hotel's most exclusive guests.

Journalists leaned forward, cameras poised to capture the moment. Fans pressed closer to the barricades, their faces flushed with excitement. They knew that behind those dark windows could be the artist they had been waiting for, the one who had captivated their hearts with his music and his mystery.

The hotel security moved quickly, stepping into position around the van, and blocking any potential approach. But even their movements, sharp and professional, couldn't dampen the feverish energy radiating from the crowd. Moonlight's arrival-if it truly was him-felt like the climax of a story that had been building for months, and now, they were on the edge of seeing the man behind the legend.

The doors of the van remained closed for just a second longer, teasing the world with its silence. Then, as if by the pull of invisible strings, the door handle clicked. The crowd collectively exhaled, a mix of anticipation and awe hanging in the air.

Whoever stepped out would either confirm their wildest hopes-or send them spiraling into even greater curiosity.

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