Reborn to Rewrite the Spotlight

Chapter 20: The Choice

December 2005 – Los Angeles, California

Age: 12 years, 5 months

The air in Los Angeles was cool, a stark contrast to the summer heat I had gotten used to. It was the end of 2005, and everything had changed. The year had flown by in a whirlwind of performances, radio hits, and interviews. I was no longer just the kid with a dream. I was the pop sensation.

One Time had turned into a massive success. The song had charted in multiple countries and became a staple on the radio. Billboard had it sitting pretty at #2, right behind some of the biggest names in the industry. People were calling me the next big thing, and the fans were showing their love more than ever. But in all the noise, I couldn't help but feel an odd sense of disconnection.

The world saw Justin Bieber, the young artist with a heart full of dreams and a voice that could melt anyone's heart. But deep down, I knew better. I knew I wasn't just that naive kid anymore. I had learned to play the game, to manipulate situations, to use my image as a weapon.

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The music industry was a beast, and it was becoming more obvious each day. The glitz and glamour of the red carpets, the flashing lights, the fans screaming my name—it was exhilarating, but it was also suffocating. No matter how much attention I got, I was always aware of the people around me—managers, agents, promoters—all of them trying to control my every move.

I had been given this life, this opportunity, but I knew the cost. The moment I decided to let the world see the naive, innocent kid, I had given up a piece of myself. It felt like I was constantly juggling between being Justin Bieber, the rising star, and myself, the one who knew the game too well.

I spent days on the road, rehearsing new songs and preparing for the next performance. It all felt like a machine. A well-oiled machine where every move, every note, every lyric was calculated to perfection. But something was missing.

I needed more.

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On a particularly quiet night, I sat alone in my hotel room in downtown Los Angeles, my thoughts drifting. The city's lights blinked outside my window, but inside, I was trapped in my own head. I thought about how everything had unfolded so perfectly. How I had become the embodiment of Justin's dream. But somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a constant question:

Was this really my life?

I had written the songs, sung the lyrics, made the moves, but I was still just a figure in the story. The people around me saw me as Justin, the kid with the bright smile and the high-pitched voice. They didn't see the layers beneath the surface. They didn't see the boy who had lived a different life, who had learned the art of manipulation and deception. The boy who had been born in a different timeline and was now playing this part to perfection.

But it was becoming harder to maintain the act.

There were moments when I wanted to break free, to shout to the world that I wasn't just another pop star. That there was more to me than what everyone saw. But the truth was, I had chosen this. I had chosen to let Justin's life take the lead, to make the naive act my signature move.

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I picked up my phone, scrolling through my messages. The management team had been pushing for more appearances, more shows. They wanted me to go on another radio tour, to promote the upcoming single. Everything was moving so fast. I couldn't keep up with it all.

But then, I saw a message from Pattie. My mom. The woman who had been my rock, who had always believed in me. The one person who had kept me grounded through all of this chaos.

"Justin, I found someone who can help you. His name's Scooter Braun. He's been following your career closely and thinks we have something big here."

I stared at the message, a sense of unease creeping in. Scooter Braun. The name rang a bell. I'd heard of him before. He was an influential figure in the industry, a manager known for spotting talent. But something about the idea of bringing in someone new, someone who could possibly take control of my career, didn't sit well with me.

I had already learned what it meant to have people control your narrative. I'd lived through that in my past life. And now that I had a foothold in this world, I wasn't sure if I was ready to give that up just yet.

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As I sat in the stillness of the night, I realized that the time had come for me to make a choice. I could continue on this path—playing the naive, innocent boy who was swept up by the fame, letting others make decisions for me. Or I could take control. I could take the reins of my own destiny.

The thought of working with Scooter Braun, of letting someone else direct my path, was tempting. But then I remembered everything that had gotten me here: my drive, my understanding of the game, my ability to manipulate situations. I couldn't let someone else decide my future.

I had a song, One Time, that was still making waves. I had fans, a career, and the tools to make something bigger. I needed to focus on that. I needed to take control of my own music, my own career, and my own future.

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The next morning, I called Pattie into my room. We talked about the offer, about the possibilities. But deep down, I knew what I had to do. I wasn't ready to hand my life over to someone else. Not yet.

"I don't want to go down that path yet," I told her. "I want to keep writing my own music. I want to find my own team. I'm not ready for anyone to control my story. Not now."

Pattie looked at me, concern flickering in her eyes. "Are you sure, Justin?"

I nodded, a sense of clarity flooding my chest. "Yes. I'll figure it out. I need to do this on my own. But we'll take it slow."

And that was it. I had made my choice.

The fame, the attention, the world—it all came with a price. But I was ready to face it head-on. No more pretending to be someone I wasn't. I was Justin Bieber, and this was my story. I would control it. I would write it. And I would make sure that, when the time came, no one could take it away from me.

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December 2005 – Los Angeles, California

Age: 12 years, 5 months

Date: December 25, 2005