SuperStar!

Ethan, still focused on the laptop in front of him, quickly typed "Brit Awards 2022 winners" into the search bar, his fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced ease. As soon as he hit enter, the page began to load, and within seconds, an overwhelming flood of news articles, headlines, and tweets filled the screen.

His name was plastered across all of them. Pictures of him holding his trophy, screenshots of fans reacting to his win, article after article analyzing his success—it was everywhere, dominating the news cycle in a way that felt almost surreal.

For a moment, he simply stared at the screen, momentarily stunned by the sheer volume of content centered around him. It wasn't like he hadn't expected coverage—of course, winning such a prestigious award would generate buzz—but seeing it all laid out like this? It was a whole different feeling altogether.

But that wasn't what he was looking for.

His eyes scanned through the chaotic flood of information, scrolling past countless headlines until one particular tweet caught his attention.

"Brit Awards 2022: All the winners so far—more to come!"

"That's the one," Ethan muttered under his breath, clicking on the link without hesitation.

The page began to load, the spinning wheel turning as it pulled up the full list of winners. And then—

LOGIN REQUIRED.

Ethan groaned in frustration, slumping back into his chair as his head tilted towards the ceiling. "Shit."

Across the room, Eminem, who had been casually scrolling through his phone, glanced up at Ethan's sudden outburst. "Yo, what's up? Everything good?"

Ethan let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he waved a hand at the screen in mild annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Just… it's asking me to log in, and I don't really want to use my main account."

Em raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Why? You scared someone's gonna see you checking your own awards?"

Ethan shot him a deadpan look. "Yes. Exactly. The last thing I need is some unnecessary drama because I accidentally like or retweet something. You know how it is—next thing you know, there's a whole Twitter thread dissecting my every move."

Eminem chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Man, you're paranoid."

Ethan pointed at him without missing a beat. "I'm careful. Big difference. I swear, I could delete a message in under a second and still somehow end up in a controversy. I do not need any more accusations of being a narcissist just because I checked my own award online."

Em just laughed, clearly entertained. "Alright, so what's the plan? You gonna give up, or…?"

Ethan let out a short huff, his mind already racing through alternatives. And then—

"You could just make a burner account just to check the winners," Em suggested, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ethan's eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. Why hadn't he thought of that? A burner account—it was so simple, yet so effective.

"That's true. Thanks, man," Ethan said, already reaching for his phone to set it up.

Eminem simply shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "No problem. Also, my daughter's gonna be around when we drop. Apparently, she's a huge fan of yours."

Ethan, too focused on typing in his new email address, barely registered what Em had just said. "Yeah, that's cool. Can't wait," he muttered absentmindedly, his fingers moving quickly as he created the account.

Once the setup was complete, he swiftly accepted all the cookies, logged in, and wasted no time in getting to the post he had originally been searching for. His eyes skimmed the list of names, scanning through the results, until—

His gaze froze. His breath hitched slightly.

He read the words again, just to be sure he wasn't seeing things.

His lips parted slightly before he finally blurted out, a mix of disbelief and excitement in his voice, "Wow… I beat Adele for Song of the Year."

The other two people in the room reacted almost immediately.

Emil, his longtime friend, let out a low whistle. "Damn, that's impressive. Adele? Wow. Which one of your songs won?"

Ethan finally peeled his eyes away from the screen, his lips stretching into a slow-growing smile. "It was '7 Years.' It beat out 'Easy on Me' and—" He stopped mid-sentence, his excitement surging as he noticed more names. "Whoa, even Elton John and Dua Lipa's 'Cold Heart.'"

His voice was laced with awe.

Joe, who had been watching silently, grinned. "That's insane, man. Congrats!"

Ethan beamed. "Thanks, man." The smile on his face only grew as he scrolled through the list. With every big name he saw, every legendary artist he had surpassed, a new wave of happiness rushed through him. He knew he wasn't supposed to feel this way—winning shouldn't be about beating others, but something about seeing those massive artists listed beneath his name made it feel real. He wasn't just some kid dreaming of making it big anymore. He was here. He was competing against the best. And he was winning.

His gaze moved further down the list, checking the categories he hadn't won. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he read them. "Adele beat me for Songwriter of the Year," he murmured, amused. "And Dua Lipa got Best Pop/R&B Act over me."

He wasn't upset—not in the slightest. He had come too far to let losses like that get to him now. Instead, he kept scrolling, scanning through the rest of the categories. And then—

He stopped. His eyes widened slightly as he sat up straighter in his chair.

"Dude," he said, his voice a mixture of shock and excitement, "we beat Justin Bieber, Billie Eilish, and The Kid Laroi for Best International Music."

He turned to Eminem, his excitement spilling over.

Eminem, leaning back comfortably, simply raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Ethan's reaction. He gave him a knowing look, as if to say, Yeah? And?

Ethan quickly shook his head, realizing how ridiculous he must have sounded. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's normal for you," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But, wow… I'm just amazed."

He felt a little embarrassed. Imagine telling Eminem—Eminem—that they had beaten other artists and expecting him to be overjoyed, as if he wasn't the kind of artist people were thrilled just to compete against.

But Ethan didn't let the embarrassment linger. Em had earned the right to look at awards and shrug. He had paved the road for himself long ago. He didn't need trophies to prove anything anymore.

Ethan, though? He wasn't there yet. Not even close.

But one day, he would be.

One day, he wanted to be The Final Boss of award shows—the artist others measured themselves against, the name everyone was thrilled to even be nominated next to.

And this? This was just the beginning.