Domination in America, Starting from being a Boxing Champion

In the dressing room backstage, the corner's incandescent light remained bright.

On the coffee table, a small fan whirred, but with the doors and windows of the dressing room tightly shut, not a single cool breeze entered, and the fan merely stirred the stagnant hot air in vain.

The scent of whiskey mixed with perfume, sweat, and hormones—although they weren't gasoline, gunpowder, or explosive shells.

They could still ignite the air, making the room even hotter and more stifling.

"How do you feel?"

Slowly rising to her feet, Beyonce flashed a spicy smile.

"You're an incredible woman."

Link replied with a slight smile, pulling out a wet wipe and handing it to her.

"And you, an incredible man, so very incredible."

Beyonce said in a hoarse voice, pinching her throat.

"Will it affect your performance coming up?"

"Now you think of it, isn't it a bit late?"

Beyonce glanced at him sidelong, picked up the half-cup of whiskey on the table, downed it in one gulp, shook the empty glass, then staggered out the door on her high heels.

"Your whiskey!"

Link said, picking up the bottle from the table.

"Consider it your payment."

Beyonce walked away without looking back.

Link shook his head, tucked the hem of his shirt into his waistband, and wiped off the sweat on his body.

Remembering something, he took out his phone, turned off the recording function, thought for a moment, and then deleted the recording he had just made.

In such a special period, he also had to be careful.

When he re-entered the concert hall in his suit, P!nk's performance had already finished, and the venue was continuing with the Best Special Effects award.

The winner was Lady Gaga's single "Paparazzi."

This year at the MTV Music Awards, Lady Gaga had two singles nominated, "Paparazzi" and "Poker Face," while her competitor Beyonce only had one, "Single Ladies."

When Link returned to his seat, he was surprised to find that those who had stormed off earlier had returned to their seats.

Kanye, Lil Wayne, 50 Cent, and a few others sat with gloomy faces, exuding a 'I'm super angry, don't mess with me' vibe.

Link thought for a moment and guessed why they had come back.

Despite their status as rap stars, they still fell short of the weight of Viacom Media Networks, which stood behind MTV.

And MTV was also an important platform for rappers to promote their singles and albums.

At this stage in the music industry, no promotional platform could rival MTV.

That's also why an award from a TV channel could stand on equal footing with the Grammy Awards and the American Music Awards.

Their action of leaving their seats as a protest couldn't threaten MTV.

There were plenty of musicians in the United States music scene, especially rappers—it was said that one in three African Americans could rap.

With enough resources, it wouldn't be too difficult to cultivate one or two more Kanyes.

They couldn't blackmail MTV, but MTV had ways to make them come back.

Understanding this, the joy Link felt from winning an award gradually faded, and he suddenly felt listless.

In the eyes of capital and media conglomerates, he was just like Kanye and the others, a valuable resource to be manipulated and controlled within their sphere of influence.

Even if he beat them in single charts, album sales, and awards, he wasn't the biggest winner of the game, nor the one who got the largest slice of the cake.

The real winners were the capitalists.

It felt as if he were in the ring, facing a formidable opponent, gritting his teeth and enduring the hits, and finally beating the adversary with difficulty.

But when it was time to be awarded, the Golden Belt was taken away by someone in the audience.

Such a fight was very unsatisfying.

After he sat down, Kanye and the others continued to glare at him.

Link didn't want to bother with them and had no more thoughts of competing.

His current goal was to make more money, acquire several major websites and TV stations, establish an entertainment media group and become one of the players.

"Link, don't get cocky, we won't let you be arrogant for long,"

"That's right, you made us lose face, and we'll make you lose face too,"

Lil Wayne and 50 Cent said sinisterly from behind.

Link shook his head and said, crossing his legs, "All this talk is pointless. Let's do this, we're all singers. If you can write a song that outsells 'See you again,' I'll concede defeat willingly and admit you are superior. But if you can't do it, please shut up. Can you do that?"

Lil Wayne and 50 Cent were stunned; "See you again" was currently at 15 million sales in the United States, with global sales at 40 million. With this trend, total sales could very likely exceed 100 million.

How on earth could they beat that song?

Unless Elvis Presley, The Beatles, MJ, or Garth Brooks themselves stepped up, for any other artist to release such a hit would be extremely, extremely difficult.

"Can't you do it?"

Link looked over the group's faces with disappointment and spread his hands, "So how do you plan to beat me? Assassinate each other like Tupac and B.I.G, physically eliminating the competition?"

"Heh heh heh~"

Eminem, biting on the drawstring of his hood, let out a repressed laugh after hearing his words.

Next to him, Wiz Khalifa also laughed soundlessly.

"We can!"

Enraged by their laughter, 50 Cent spoke firmly, clenching his fist.

"That's right, we can,"

Drake said seriously.

"Good! When you beat 'See you again,' I'll concede defeat to you voluntarily,"

Link said, clenching his fist toward 50 Cent.
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50 Cent smacked it hard, then sucked in a breath of cold air and sat down, massaging his fist.

The others snorted and returned to their seats with disgruntled expressions.

"Link, you're a cunning guy, with just a few words you backed them off."