Rewind With A Superstar System-Chapter 114: Art Auction (1)

<🎧 Song Recommendation: Private Landing by Don Toliver ft. Justin Bieber, Future>

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"Do you have a problem telling them about your little brother?" Von finally asked with a slightly protective tone. "Just drop my name so they treat you with the respect you actually deserve." 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"No... I don’t think that’s the problem. I mean, I know I can’t keep hiding it forever, and I don’t really risk anything by letting people know. But really, Von, I’m loving this place. The studios are amazing. It’s just a few guys here. It’s nothing much."

"Hmm," Von muttered after a while. "If you say so, Nana. Well, I’mma leave you to return to your painting. Good luck tonight. I’ll probably visit you when I’ve wrapped up with all my work by the end of the year."

"I don’t mind waiting," Naomi said with a warm smile. Good luck with your work today. Love you."

"Love you," Von replied.

The moment the screen went black, Von’s relaxed demeanor completely vanished. He had already made up his mind five minutes ago.

He opened his messages, tapped on Emily’s name, and typed out a quick text.

[I’ll be flying to LA today, see ya!]

It took exactly four seconds for the three gray typing dots to appear.

[EMILY: Absolutely not! Are you insane?! I’ve told you we have a major radio interview scheduled for tonight to push the single! You cannot leave the state!]

[Sorry Em, but I really have to go. It’s for Nana, and she comes first. I’m sorry. Cancel the interviews or reschedule them for next week.]

He didn’t wait to read the string of furious, capitalized curses he knew Emily was currently typing out. Von just locked his phone and slid it deep into his pocket.

He had an auction to attend!

***

Von got to work immediately. He packed a small weekend bag, booked a first-class ticket, and headed straight to the airport. The flight gave him plenty of time to mentally prepare for the night.

By 4:30 PM, his flight touched down smoothly in Los Angeles.

An Uber Black was already waiting for him at the curb. Since he planned on spending the night, he didn’t head straight to the school. He had the driver drop him off at a high-end hotel in Valencia, booking a premium suite that was just a ten-minute drive from the CalArts campus.

This was the first time Von was visiting Los Angeles since his controversial exit from Project: Star.

Back then, he was broke and dependant on the reality show. But even now he could afford to take a tour around the city, he didn’t feel like it.

The Hollywood signs and beaches didn’t interest him. Instead, he just rested in his suite, ordered some room service, and casually played video games on his phone to kill time.

By 7:00 PM, he decided it was time to move.

He dressed down, throwing on a plain black hoodie and dark trousers. To keep a low profile, he grabbed a black face mask and looped it over his ears.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Von looked at his reflection. Seeing the mask on his face triggered a sudden, vivid memory of the timeline.

In just a few short months, these masks would become a global necessity. Covid-19 would take the world by storm starting in early 2020.

The lockdowns imposed because of the pandemic would completely halt global travel, crash the economy, and force the music industry to cancel every single live tour and stadium show... and Major labels were going to lose billions.

But looking at himself in the mirror, Von just smirked under his mask.

’I’ll put my future knowledge to use and not fall during this time,’ Von thought. He already knew the physical touring market was going to die soon, which meant he would double down on the digital market, streaming platforms, and internet culture while his competitors panicked.

He pulled back his sleeve, checking his designer watch. It was already late. He grabbed his phone and left the suite.

Another Uber dropped him off at the modern architecture of the CalArts Grand Gallery. Von had expected a massive security presence, but it turned out the Freshman Fall Gala wasn’t exactly the Met Gala.

Security wasn’t tight at all. There weren’t any A-list celebrities or aggressive paparazzi crowding the entrance. Most of the attendees were simply wealthy representatives of the freshmen’s families or local, deep-pocketed alumni who had come to support the school.

Because Von was a bit late, the main doors to the exhibition hall were already closed. The student volunteer at the front desk initially tried to turn him away, eyeing his streetwear with clear disdain.

But simply pulled out some hundred-dollar bills and was immediately handed a numbered bidding paddle and ushered inside after a security check.

Von slipped quietly through the back double doors, stepping into the dimly lit hall.

Everyone in the room was dressed in tailored suits, expensive evening gowns, and jewelry.

Standing in the shadows against the back wall in his hoodie, Von looked entirely out of place. If he hadn’t literally bought his way in, they would have called security on him in seconds.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched the auction proceed, silently learning the mechanics of the event in the process.

It was a highly structured affair. The freshman students were entirely segregated, sitting in a designated cluster of chairs off to the far left side of the room.

The center of the hall was filled with rows of padded chairs reserved strictly for the bidders. When a student’s name was called, they would take a long, awkward walk from the student section up to the brightly lit stage.

An assistant would place their artwork on a wooden easel under a spotlight, and the auctioneer would begin calling out numbers. If a buyer wanted the piece, they simply raised their numbered paddle and offer a higher bid. Then the highest bidder gets to have it.

Von quickly noticed that the seating arrangement in the center rows was not a coincidence. The hierarchy was obvious.

The most high-profile, wealthy bidders were seated right up front, dominating the first row, while the less affluent relatives were pushed toward the back.

As he watched piece after piece go up on the easel, Von wasn’t exactly blown away. He was no professional art critic, but he had a sharp eye for visual aesthetics. Nothing he saw on that stage looked extraordinary. Most of it were just overly pretentious.

Despite his silent critiques, the wealthy parents were throwing their wallets around. Every single piece sold, with the highest going for around $600. For a cheap painting made by a freshman who wasn’t even a professional artist yet, that was a massive sum of money.

But as the night dragged on, Von’s attention was drawn to one specific man sitting in the center of the front row.

He was an older, pompous-looking man wearing a tailored, double-breasted suit, a high, stylish cap, and a monocle-style eyepiece.

Sitting directly next to him, blatantly ignoring the rules that required students to sit in the designated side section, was a blonde girl in a glittering dress. She was clearly a student, and just as clearly his daughter.