SuperStar!

Hearing that shout from one of the most famous rappers alive sent a jolt of panic through Ethan's body. He froze on the spot, his brain short-circuiting as he locked eyes with the furious man staring him down. His body stiffened, and for a moment, it was as if time itself had paused. His mind screamed at him to move, to run, to do something—but all he could do was stand there, caught in the unrelenting gaze of the legendary rapper.

Ethan was a die-hard Eminem fan—there was no way he wouldn't recognize Curtis James Jackson III, better known as 50 Cent. The man was practically rap royalty, a name forever intertwined with Eminem's legacy. A living icon. A force to be reckoned with.

Eminem had discovered him, signed him, and together they had dominated the industry. They weren't just collaborators; they were brothers-in-arms, going to war in both music and real life. From legendary rap beefs to actual deadly feuds—hell, 50 had survived nine gunshots—their bond was unshakable.

To put it simply, 50 was to Em what Em was to Dre. And if you knew anything about that kind of relationship, you knew one thing for sure—it was serious as hell.

But that wasn't what really made Ethan nervous.

No, what truly sent fear racing through his veins was the one thing everyone knew about 50 Cent—his pettiness. Ethan had seen it firsthand, had laughed at it from the comfort of his phone screen. But now? Now, he was in the direct line of fire.

This was a man who held grudges like they were stock investments—long-term and highly valuable. If 50 Cent didn't like you, he didn't like you for life. Ethan had watched, entertained, as 50 tormented his enemies over the years, turning feuds into full-time hobbies.

The legendary Floyd Mayweather challenge? Oh yeah, Ethan had cried laughing at that one. 50 had called out the undefeated boxing champion, challenging him to read a single page from Dr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat, promising to donate $750,000 if he could do it. The beef had started over money—Floyd allegedly owed 50 some cash—and instead of just calling it even, 50 had publicly dragged him, making the whole world question the boxer's literacy.

And then there was Ja Rule. Ethan still remembered the audacity of 50 Cent buying out the entire front row of Ja Rule's concert, leaving the seats completely empty just to embarrass the man. This was after 50 and Eminem had already torched Ja's career, leaving the once-chart-topping rapper admitting in interviews that he almost cried over how badly he was defeated. A full-grown man. A so-called gangster. Reduced to tears because of 50.

50 had even beefed with his own son.

And worst of all? It didn't take much to set him off.

The man once started a full-fledged feud with Meek Mill over nothing more than a funny look in a club. That was it. A look. That was all it took for 50 to dedicate time, effort, and relentless trolling to utterly humiliating someone. A single glance had cost Meek months of digital warfare.

The moral of the story? Do not beef with 50 Cent. It never ends well.

And now, standing here, Ethan found himself in the worst possible position.

By all rights, he hadn't actually done anything wrong—it was a mistake, an accident. But knowing 50? That didn't matter. Logic didn't matter.

50 had destroyed careers over less.

Ethan could already see it now—the constant trolling, the relentless memes, the digital onslaught that was about to descend upon him. The humiliation. The jokes. The nonstop internet clowning. He could already picture his own face photoshopped into some ridiculous meme, 50 Cent himself reposting it with a laughing emoji and some ruthless caption.

He was ready for war.

The problem?

He knew he had already lost.

The internet was about to have a field day, and 50 Cent? He was going to enjoy every second of it.

Ethan braced himself. He was ready. Or at least, he thought he was.

Eminem's voice cut through the tension, sounding both irritated and confused.

"What, man? Why you screaming?" he asked, turning away from his makeshift recording studio to look at them. First at 50. Then at Ethan.

Neither of them spoke, which only made Em more impatient. He narrowed his eyes. "Well? What is it?"

Ethan saw 50 getting ready to speak and immediately panicked. Hell no. There was no way he was letting him explain first. Lord knew what 50 would say, how he'd twist it, and Ethan couldn't afford that. Not when his reputation—and possibly his career and friendship with Eminem—were on the line.

"Actually, this is what happened," Ethan blurted out, cutting in before 50 could even open his mouth.

And so, like a student trying to talk his way out of detention, he launched into the full story. From waking up half-conscious to stumbling toward the bathroom, to barely dodging flying shoes—he laid it all out in excruciating detail.

When he finished, he stood there awkwardly, waiting for a reaction. Eminem just stared at him for a second… and then, suddenly, he burst out laughing.

Like, seriously laughing.

"You walked in on him taking a shit?" Eminem wheezed, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. "Twice?!"

He laughed even harder, almost gasping for air.

Meanwhile, 50 stood there, arms crossed, looking beyond pissed.

"That shit ain't funny," he snapped, visibly embarrassed. Then, glaring at Eminem, he growled, "And who the fuck is this guy?" He shot Ethan another deadly look.

Mid-laughter, Em waved a dismissive hand, still chuckling. "That's Ethan Jones. I'm sure you know him. Or at least heard about him."

50's expression stayed blank. "I don't know shit," he said, looking Ethan up and down with clear disapproval.

Ethan's stomach sank. Great. I'm so fucked. 50 already hated him. If there was one thing worse than being on 50's radar, it was being on his bad side.

At least he doesn't know me, Ethan thought.

But he was wrong.

50 had lied. Of course, he had heard the name Ethan Jones. Anyone who was anyone in the music industry—or even entertainment in general—knew that name. From Grammy nominations to chart-topping hits, to even a song with Eminem himself—Ethan was no small-time artist.

But that wasn't all.

50 wasn't just some rapper who had made it big—he was a businessman, a strategist, someone who had spent years navigating the industry. And he knew things that the public didn't. He knew, for example, that Universal Music Group had been throwing around Ethan's name in closed-door meetings. He knew that there were serious talks about making this skinny-ass white boy the future face of the company—the future face of music itself.

50 stared at him, analyzing every inch of him, his mind racing. So that's him, he thought.

But he didn't say anything. Not because he feared the executives in suits who were backing Ethan. No, 50 didn't fear anybody. But because he respected Em. And for Eminem to have this kid here, in a private hotel room, with his daughter—that meant something.

So, for now, he just stood there, glaring at Ethan.

Sizing him up.

Waiting.

As the laughter finally died down, Eminem shook his head, still amused but ready to move on.

"Aight, enough of that," he said, waving a hand. "Now, you two—help me listen to this. That's why I called you, Ethan."

Eminem turned back toward his setup, clicking a few things before a song started playing through the speakers. Ethan immediately focused, his ears trained to pick up every detail.

The track hit hard. The beat was classic yet raw, and the flow was relentless. As the verses played, Ethan's excitement built up. He had never heard this one before. And that was saying something—he was a huge fan.

As the last notes faded, Ethan was practically buzzing with energy.

"That's insane! Is that a new track? I haven't heard that one before!" he blurted out, barely able to contain himself.

50 Cent chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, of course you haven't," he said, giving Ethan a knowing smirk. "That's an old track we made together years ago. Never got released."

Ethan's eyes widened. A lost Eminem and 50 collab just sitting in the vault?

50 turned to Eminem, his expression curious. "So, what's up? You tryna release it now?"

Eminem leaned back in his chair, nodding slightly. "Yeah… but not just that. I wanna drop a whole new album."

Silence.

For a moment, both Ethan and 50 just stared at him. Processing.

And then—

"YES! YES! THAT'S INSANE! YES, DO THAT!" Ethan shouted, literally jumping in place.

50, though far more composed, nodded approvingly. "About damn time," he said, crossing his arms. "After all these years? What changed your mind?"

Eminem exhaled, looking thoughtful. "I dunno… I just feel like it again."

He said it casually, like he wasn't just announcing one of the biggest comebacks in rap history. But for a split second, as he spoke, his eyes flickered toward Ethan—just briefly—before shifting away. It was subtle, unnoticed by the rest.

Then, just as quickly, Em's confidence seemed to waver. He scratched his chin. "But… I'm not sure. I don't know if I should."

Both Ethan and 50's heads snapped toward him at the same time.

"WHAT?!" they blurted out in unison, looking at each other like Eminem had just lost his damn mind.

50 recovered first, shaking his head. "What are you sayin', man? Do it."

Eminem sighed. "Nah, man, I don't know. This is a different era now. It's that mumble rap shit that's runnin' things. Not sure I fit in anymore."

50 was about to respond, but Ethan was faster.

"Are you joking right now? Dude, you're Eminem! Of course people wanna hear you rap! Why are you even doubting yourself?" Ethan threw his hands up. "For real, just drop the damn album."

50 groaned, rubbing his face. "Even though I hate to agree with the kid… I support him on this one." He looked at Eminem seriously. "People wanna hear you, man. And if you need a feature—" He grinned. "I got you."

Ethan froze.

Did—did 50 Cent just offer to feature on an Eminem album?

His brain short-circuited for a second. He was standing in a room where an Eminem and 50 Cent collab might actually happen—and he was witnessing it live.

Eminem, meanwhile, was just bobbing his head slightly, still deep in thought. He wasn't fully convinced yet.

Ethan noticed.

And he had an idea.

"Wait," he said suddenly.

Both Eminem and 50 turned to him. "What?"

Ethan didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out his phone, walking toward the recording booth.

50 raised an eyebrow. "Yo—what the fuck are you doing?"

Ethan grinned. "Bringing the passion. Just wait."

He connected his phone to the system, tapping a few things. His heart pounded, but his instincts told him he was doing the right thing.

Eminem squinted at the screen. "Wait… isn't that—"

Ethan smiled.

"Yes."

The beat dropped.

The beat.

Not just any beat. The one Max—Ethan's producer—had made for him and Em.

Eminem's eyebrows lifted slightly.

50 glanced between them, intrigued.

Ethan? He just stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

The room went quiet except for the thumping bass.

And then—