CHAPTER 141: END GAME

Michael sat in his office, a faint grin on his face. For the past few weeks, everything had gone his way. Dayo had been pushed to the edge — dragged through scandal after scandal — yet he still refused to speak. Any other artist would have cracked by now, but Dayo remained silent. It was irritating, but also impressive.

Michael leaned back and exhaled slowly. "Stubborn kid," he muttered under his breath. "You really think you can survive this long in my world?"

He picked up his phone. "Clara, come in."

Moments later, Clara entered the office, holding a small tablet. "Yes, sir."

Michael watched her quietly before asking, "How’s everything going on the Dayo situation?"

Clara was caught off guard a bit as this past week has been he happiest she had seen her boss, but she found out it was because Dayo had been a thorn in his side. He had been handled, she couldn’t help but praise Dayo a bit for making a whole overload of the music industry worry, and happy for leaving the industry.

Clara straightened. "Everything is going smoothly, sir. We’ve stripped him of public sympathy. The leaks, copyright strikes, fake lawsuits — they’ve all taken effect. His image is at its weakest point."

Michael nodded. "Good. So what’s next?"

Clara scrolled on her tablet. "Now we move to what we call the endgame. It doesn’t involve JD Records directly — we’ll respect the agreement you made. But this will focus on Dayo himself. His name, his presence, his connections."

Michael raised a brow when he remembered that Dayo had threatened him to spear his label, but he shrugged, as without Dayo, the label was bound to crumble. "Go on."

"We’re hitting his digital footprint," she continued. "We’ve already set coordinated mass reports through automated accounts. Within twenty-four hours, his social media pages will start getting flagged and restricted. We’re also releasing AI-generated clips that show him acting unstable — rants, anger outbursts, things that look real enough for fans to believe."

Michael’s grin widened a little. "Destroy the man, not the label."

Clara nodded. "Exactly, sir. Once his pages go down, brands will pull away, interviews will be canceled, and nobody will want to work with him. The label might still stand, but without him, it loses its heart."

Michael stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the city. "Good. Make it fast. I want this to be over before the weekend. When it’s done, I don’t want to hear that name again."

"Yes, sir," Clara said. "The system’s already in motion. Within the next few days, Dayo will be blacklisted completely — no streaming access, no verified accounts, no visibility. He’ll disappear from the industry without us touching his company."

Michael gave a small laugh. "Perfect. Erase him from the map. If he wants to play independent, let him see what the world looks like without a platform."

Clara nodded and left the office quietly.

Michael remained by the window, still staring out. The city lights flickered in the distance. For him, the game was almost done. The boy who had once challenged his empire was about to vanish.

"This ends now, Dayo."

*****

Meanwhile, Dayo sat in his studio, scrolling through his phone.

For the first time in days, the place was quiet — no meetings, no calls, no interviews. Just him, sitting for peace and quiet.

He opened his social feed.

Error. Try again later.

He frowned, refreshed the page, and saw the same thing. Then he switched to another app — same result. He opened the label account — "This page is temporarily restricted due to unusual activity."

He leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose. "So... this is it."

A knock came on the door. It was Valery and Rex. They looked uneasy.

"Boss," Alice started, "we’ve got a problem. Major one. Your social accounts are gone. Like... not suspended — wiped."

Valery handed him her tablet. "We tried logging in from three different IPs. All accounts — your personal, your stage name, even your management page — they’ve all been flagged and removed. Platforms are calling it a ’security measure.’ But this kind of coordination doesn’t happen by accident."

Dayo skimmed the screen. His handles were gone, his videos missing, his followers zeroed out. Every trace of him online was being erased in real time.

All his hard work was disappearing right in front he had amounted to more than 70 million followers on all platforms, and now...

He set the tablet down calmly. "Michael."

Valery nodded slowly. "Yeah. It’s him. We checked the source reports — most of the takedowns came from mass bot activity. Someone paid a serious network to flood the system."

Urich paced around. "This is wild, man. You can’t even post a defense. You’re trending again, but this time it’s all fake screenshots and twisted clips. It’s like they’re trying to delete you."

Dayo rubbed his face, then smiled faintly. "They are. That’s the endgame."

Both looked at him, confused.

He leaned forward. "Remember what I told you? He won’t touch the label. He’ll come for me instead. This is his way of cutting me off completely."

Valery sighed. "What do we do then?"

"Nothing," Dayo said quietly. "Let him finish."

Urich turned sharply. "What do you mean, let him finish? He’s burying you."

Dayo looked calm, almost detached. "He wants me to panic. He wants me to rush out a statement or fight back. I won’t give him that. The more noise I make, the more it feeds his narrative. I’ll wait."

Valery frowned. "Wait for what?"

"For silence," Dayo said. "When everyone stops talking — that’s when I’ll talk. And take my step back."

He stood up, stretched, and walked toward the window.

Outside, the night was heavy with rain. The city lights looked dull and blurred through the glass.

"Tell everyone to go home early," he added. "No press, no posts, no reactions. Let him think he’s won."

Rex hesitated. "And if this doesn’t work?"

Dayo smiled slightly. "It will, and if it doesn’t, then I’ll rebuild. From zero. Again."

Valery looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."

"And also arrange the press conference we discussed about," Dayo said

"Noted."

They left the room, leaving Dayo alone with the soft patter of rain and the flickering screen of a phone that could no longer connect to anything.

He sat there for a long time, staring into the reflection on the window — his own face fading against the dark city — and whispered.

"This isn’t the end. It’s just the pause before the return."