From Apocalypse To Entertainment Circle (BL)-Chapter 37: A Stage Built on Corpses: The Idol’s Most Fatal Performance 01

Chapter 37: A Stage Built on Corpses: The Idol’s Most Fatal Performance 01

"Are you an idiot or what?"

One couldn’t blame Sian for his twisted expression at this moment. Technically speaking, the man in the silver mask could kill everyone and walk out of this forest whenever he wanted. Especially now—he had already obtained the information he wanted and killed the prisoner, so there was no real reason for him to linger and chat with them.

He could just wipe them all out, board his helicopter, and fly away before any reinforcements arrived.

But Sian didn’t want to do what this arrogant man wanted—this man who acted as if he was above everyone else. And besides, his request was bizarre. Seriously, who in their right mind would ask someone to sing for them in the middle of a forest littered with corpses?

Even the audience watching the live broadcast was stunned by the sudden turn of events.

A few minutes ago, they had witnessed Sian dancing amidst bullets, then taking down enemies with a few swift moves. They were left speechless when he turned against the soldiers as if he had lost his mind, and before they could even process that, a helicopter had entered the scene.

My god. So many shocks in such a short time—they might just have a heart attack at this rate.

That’s enough.

No, wait, not really.

All the soldiers had been subdued, Sian had regained consciousness after fainting, and now he was even cursing the supreme leader of the terrorists without fear.

Instead of punishing him for his insolence... the leader asked him to sing.

"Mom, am I dreaming? What the hell is happening right now?"

"I know, I know... Upstairs, I feel the same. Too much is happening all at once—I can’t keep up anymore."

"I’m shocked too! I don’t even know what to focus on. Should I talk about Sian’s skills? The fact that he took down terrorists? That he fainted and then woke up again? That masked man? Are the hostages trembling in the background? Or maybe the soldiers lying motionless on the ground...?"

"Pfft, Upstairs, you just summarized the entire scene. But if you ask me, the real question is—can Sian even sing? Didn’t you hear? That silver-masked man said if Sian sings for him, he’ll let everyone go."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard that too. But... I feel like the guy might kill Sian if he sings."

"What? Why do you say that? Isn’t Sian an idol? That’s probably why the guy asked him to sing. He should be able to perform at least one song."

"Upstairs, you don’t understand. Sian is an idol, but he can’t sing. He’s ruined so many performances with ’Angels’ that they eventually banned him from singing and only let him dance on stage. I once saw a video of him singing... it was bad. Really, bad. Even a ten-year-old could sing better than him."

"Then... doesn’t this mean they’re all doomed?"

"Damn it, no way this guy would kill everyone just because he hates Sian’s singing, right?"

"Let’s just watch and see."

"+1"

"+1"

...

"Are you going to sing or not?"

The man’s patience seemed to be running out, and there was a hint of irritation, displeasure, and... impatience in his voice.

[Why does this guy want to hear me sing so badly?... Was he some old fan of the original Sian or something?]

Sian truly had no idea. But right now, he was stuck in a dilemma. He didn’t want to sing for this annoying bastard, yet he also couldn’t refuse.

If you’re wondering why he couldn’t refuse, the answer was simple.

Sian could tell that the man before him was someone who honoured his word.

Don’t ask him why—his gut just told him that if he complied and sang, this man would let them go. But at the same time, Sian was equally certain that if he refused... this man would kill everyone.

People like him—sharp, methodical, and unwavering—were the worst kind of opponents. They were intelligent, quick to act, and left no room for loopholes.

Even if Sian wanted to stall for time, it wouldn’t work on this silver-masked monster.

"You’re an idol, aren’t you, you little whore? Just sing for him already! Do whatever the hell he says so we can stay alive! I don’t want to die here, so hurry up and open your damn mouth—or your ass—or whatever!"

It was obvious who had said that.

Just when everyone had nearly forgotten about this moron, Marco, he took it upon himself to remind them of his miserable existence. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Marco stood with the others, trembling in a corner a short distance from Sian. He had been terrified from the start, but after seeing the soldiers who had been protecting them drop like flies, his fear and desperation skyrocketed.

So when he heard the masked man say he would let them live if Sian fulfilled his request, Marco didn’t care what that request was.

Hell, he wouldn’t even care if the guy asked Sian to drop dead—as long as he could survive, that was all that mattered.

Well, everyone would survive.

Everyone except him.

Beneath the silver mask, beautifully crafted in the shape of some beast or god, the golden-eyed man slowly raised an eyebrow.

If one were to remove his mask at this moment and see his expression, one would find a mixture of amusement, disgust, and murderous intent.

It seemed this man despised people like Marco just as much as Sian did.

And so, in the blink of an eye, with a mere wave of his hand, one of his men moved swiftly—grabbing Marco by the throat, ready to kill him.

At that moment, Sian’s voice rang through the air.

Marco, who had been thrashing and struggling desperately against the hand constricting his neck like a venomous snake, suddenly found himself with a lifeline.

Just when he thought his soul was about to separate from his body—just when his movements began to slow, his consciousness slipping away—a faint wind blade shot toward the black-clad man strangling him.

But as if he had eyes on the back of his head, the man dodged effortlessly, his movements smooth and precise.

And all the while, he never loosened his grip on Marco’s neck.

Just when everyone thought Sian was about to engage in another intense battle, all eyes—Lan Qisheng’s men, the ten hostages who had fled earlier, and even the live audience—watched, wide-eyed.

Right then—

Sian threw aside his dagger, raised his hands in a clear gesture of surrender, and—

The masked man’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

No one noticed.

No one saw.

It was as if a burning ember had been ignited inside him.

At first, it had been a mere flicker, an insignificant spark.

A small flame of hope he never dared to dream of having.

He had been watching every move, every action, every subtle expression on Sian’s face since the beginning of the live broadcast. Every little detail.

And with each passing second, that tiny flicker had grown—

Until it became a raging volcano.

A fire he could no longer suppress.

So he had come.

Revealed himself to his enemies.

All just to confirm the suspicion gnawing at him—

And perhaps, just maybe, to feed the hope he feared was nothing more than a delusion.

"I’ll do it."

A cold, clear, and pleasant voice cut through his thoughts.

The man lifted his gaze toward the source.

The beautiful young man with long, fluttering hair and luminous golden-brown eyes—so different from his own stark, cold gold.

Those eyes were warm, sweet, and breathtaking.

"I’ll sing for you. So let him go."