From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 348: Michael’s Dilemma

Michael’s office was built for quiet power. Thick glass. Heavy wood. A view that looked expensive enough to make people feel small before they even sat down. But tonight, the room felt tighter than usual, like the walls were leaning in, listening.

He had been sitting behind his desk for almost an hour without doing anything productive. No emails. No meetings. No calls returned. Just one screen open on his tablet, watching the same graphs refresh like they were mocking him.

The curve had dipped.

It felt like a controlled decline to him, and it was making him go crazy.

Because it meant the noise around Dayo was not dying. It was stabilizing. It was settling into something sustainable, the kind of fame that stopped being a trend and started being infrastructure.

Michael tapped the desk once, hard enough to sting his knuckles, then reached for the intercom.

"Clara."

A beat.

The door opened almost immediately, like she had been standing outside already. Clara stepped in with her tablet held close to her chest, calm expression, hair pulled back tight, the kind of posture that said she had learned how to survive high-pressure rooms by not reacting to anything.

"You called, sir."

Michael leaned back slightly. He looked at her the way he looked at most people, like he was measuring what they were worth before he spoke.

"Give me the current Nature of Dayo’s situation, Numbers. Movement. Public attention," he said.

Clara nodded once and walked forward, stopping at a respectful distance from his desk.

"It’s cooling," she said. "But it’s not weakening."

Michael’s jaw tightened. "Define cooling."

Clara swiped and turned her tablet so he could see.

"The peak period is over. Based on tracked engagement across platforms, the overall hype is down roughly fifty percent from its highest saturation week."

Michael’s eyes narrowed.

Clara continued before he could cut in.

"But that is exactly why it is dangerous," she said. "Because it’s not dropping to normal. It’s dropping to a new normal that still sits above most artists’ peak."

Michael stared at the chart. His mind stayed quiet on the outside, but inside, it was pacing.

"So it’s still dominating," he said.

"Yes," Clara replied. "Just not suffocating the entire internet the way it was during the peak cycle."

He sat forward slowly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers interlocked.

"And the sub metrics," he asked. "What is actually fading. What is holding?"

Clara scrolled again. "The clips are fading. The viral edits are fading. The daily arguments are fading. But the fan base activity remains intense. Streaming is still aggressive. The catalog uplift is holding. The community is still moving like a machine."

Michael’s lips pressed into a line.

He didn’t need her to explain what it meant.

It meant Dayo had survived the most fragile part of a global wave. The part where hype either collapses or becomes loyalty.

And it has been proven that Dayo has loyal die-hard fans, even he had seen their powers of them when he tried to bring down Dayo.

Michael exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that sounded calm but wasn’t.

"And the competitors," he asked. "Other studios. Other labels."

Clara hesitated for half a second, then answered carefully.

"People are still watching. Quietly. The majors are positioning. There are signs of date shifting still. Not as loud as before, but the industry still treats him like a plague to avoid at all costs."

Michael’s eyes lifted from the tablet to Clara’s face. "And we’re doing what, Clara."

Clara kept her voice steady. "We are still blocked."

That single sentence turned the air colder.

Michael rose from his chair.

Not in a rush. Not dramatic. Just standing up, like a man who could no longer tolerate sitting with a problem.

He walked to the glass wall and stared at the city.

All those lights. All that movement.

He could control a lot of things. He could move projects. He could crush deals. He could buy silence. He could buy noise. He could put people in positions where their pride would destroy them for him.

But Dayo had been a wall he couldn’t find a crack in.

Michael turned back.

"How many attempts now?" he asked.

Clara didn’t blink. "Eight direct outreach attempts. Three indirect routes. Two intermediary channels. One personal connection we tried to revive."

Michael scoffed softly. "And nothing."

Clara lowered her gaze slightly. "No response. No acknowledgement. Not even an assistant response."

Michael laughed once, but there was no humor in it.

"So he can dominate four weeks, cover four countries, keep his name at the top, and still remain unreachable."

Clara waited. She had learned when to speak and when to disappear.

Michael’s fingers flexed like he wanted to break something.

He had tried everything.

Soft approach. Friendly approach. Business approach. Collaboration offers. Technology offers. Distribution offers. Partnerships. Private dinners. Quiet invitations.

And even a threat.

No entry point.

It made no sense.

Because no star behaved like this.

Stars wanted attention. Stars wanted validation. Stars wanted to be seen.

Dayo wanted results.

And that made him harder to trap.

Michael’s phone buzzed on the desk.

One vibration.

Then another.

A call.

Clara’s eyes flicked to the screen before she could stop herself, then back to Michael, neutral again.

Michael walked over, glanced at the caller ID, and his body shifted.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The call was from his underboss.

The woman who didn’t raise her voice often, because she didn’t need to. When she called, it meant she was already angry, and she expected the world to adjust.

Michael picked up immediately.

"Yes," he said.

Her voice hit his ear like ice.

"Explain."

Michael kept his face calm, but his eyes hardened. "Explain what, exactly?"

"You know what," she snapped. "The wave is declining, and that should have been our opening. It should have been the moment we slip in. It should have been the moment our people find the angle. Yet the reports I’m seeing are telling me we still have nothing."

Michael stared at the wall as if that would keep him from showing irritation.

"We’re working on it," he said.

Her laugh was sharp, insulting.

"Working on it," she repeated. "Michael, listen to me carefully. This is not a trend we can afford to watch like gossip. This is leverage. Everyone is looking at whatever is powering this run. Not only us. Everyone. Other labels. Other agencies. Studio giants. Streaming giants. You think Disney is sitting still. You think Marvel is sitting still. You think they are just watching like fans." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Michael’s jaw clenched.

Her voice intensified.

"This is a market advantage, and if we do not get in first, we are going to be the fools who watched history pass by from the sidewalk we noticed Dayo first, and we are yet to get what he is working with. Do you know what this means?"

Michael’s hand tightened around the phone until his knuckles went pale.

"I know," he said.

"No," she replied immediately. "You don’t know. If you knew, you would have results. This started as a one-week situation in the past. I gave you room. I gave you time. I gave you resources. Now it has been a full month, Michael. A full month of him dominating across regions, doing things that should be impossible, and we are still standing outside the door like beggars."

Michael breathed in, slowly.

He forced his voice to stay controlled. "He is more guarded than expected."

"Guarded," she repeated. "Or protected. Or hiding something. Or backed by something we can’t see."

Michael didn’t answer.

Her voice dropped, colder now.

"I want a report," she said. "A real report. Not opinions. Not theories. I want to know what he is using. I want to know what system is behind this. I want to know what device is creating this pattern. If you fail to deliver, you risk losing far more than your pride, Michael."

The threat was soft.

Which made it lethal.

Michael’s eyes flicked to Clara. She was still standing there, silent, listening without reacting, like a soldier.

Michael spoke into the phone.

"Understood."

"You have forty eight hours," she said. "And if you need to move aggressively, move aggressively. Because the longer we wait, the more the world builds a wall around him."

The line went dead.

Michael stared at the phone for a long moment, then slowly lowered it to the desk.

He didn’t move.

Clara didn’t speak.

The room held stillness like it was holding its breath.

Then Michael’s mouth curved slightly, not a smile, more like a blade being revealed.

"They think I’m going to sit down and let them crush me," he murmured.

Clara’s voice was careful. "Sir."

Michael looked at her, eyes sharp.

"They think I don’t understand what’s happening," he said. "They think I’m blind. They think I’m incompetent."

He stepped away from the desk and began pacing, left to right, slow, heavy, controlled. Each step looked calm, but his mind was burning.

"Let them think it," he continued. "Let them keep shouting. Let them keep pushing. They don’t know what I’ve been doing."

Clara watched him, expression unreadable.

Michael’s voice grew quieter, more dangerous.

"I have been gathering evidence," he said. "Not about him. About them. About what they have been hiding. About how they’ve been moving around me."

Clara’s posture stiffened slightly, just enough to show she understood the weight of that statement.

Michael stopped pacing and stared at the city again, then turned back like he had just made a decision.

"Clara," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"Try to get me an appointment with Dayo."

Clara blinked. The first sign of surprise she had shown all night.

"Sir," she asked carefully, "an appointment. With Dayo?"

Michael stepped closer, gaze locked.

"Yes," he said. "You heard me."

Clara hesitated. "We have tried."

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Try again."

Clara swallowed. "Do you want it formal. Or private."

Michael didn’t hesitate.

"Everything," he said. "Formal outreach. Private channel. Whatever works, go with it, make sure you don’t approach with threats or arrogance. We don’t approach him like we own him. We approach as we need him."

Clara nodded slowly, mind already moving.

Michael’s voice lowered again, controlled, deliberate.

"I want to meet him," he said. "Face to face. Not an email. Not a call. Not a message that can be ignored. A meeting."

Clara’s fingers tightened around her tablet. "Do you have a reason to offer. A hook."

Michael paused.

A hook.

He had a hundred hooks.

But the right one mattered.

"I want to talk business," Michael said. "Investment. Distribution. Expansion. Something that looks normal."

Clara waited.

Michael’s gaze sharpened. "But the real reason is simple."

Clara didn’t ask. She just listened.

Michael’s voice hardened into certainty.

"I want to see him," he said. "I want to know what he is."

A quiet beat.

Then Michael added, almost to himself, like a vow.

"And when the time comes, when they finally try to bite me off, I’ll cut them where it hurts. Not with noise. Not with anger. With precision."

Clara nodded once, professional again.

"I’ll handle it," she said.

Michael watched her for a second, then gestured toward the door.

"Go," he said. "Do everything possible."

Clara turned to leave, then stopped.

"Sir," she said softly. "If he refuses again."

Michael’s answer came instantly, calm like poison.

"Then we stop knocking," he said with a smile and waved Clara.

Clara left.

The door clicked shut.

Michael stood alone in the office again, but the room felt different now. Less frantic. Less helpless.

He walked back to his desk and opened a folder that wasn’t on his tablet.

A physical folder.

Paper.

Names.

Timelines.

Transfers.

A trail.

He ran his thumb along the edge like he was counting time.