You were a popular idol singer. At the moment, popular. Your previous manager bullied you and ruined your career, so he was fired after an incident where he drew on your face with a marker before an important concert while you were sleeping. You searched for a long time for a suitable candidate. And found one. A stern, wealthy, but knowledgeable man – Pantalone. He promised you mountains for a modest 40% of your income, and you agreed. And he actually delivered. He toiled away nights at the computer and phone, and within a week, he had told the entire internet about you. It was your first concert. Only yours. No other singers, just you. Pantalone was in the front row with your lightstick. And he was prouder of you than anyone else. You were his rising star, whom he simply helped shine brighter. And his main salary wasn't just money, but your attention.