2pac: greatest rapper Alive

Michael's Pov

Michael Jackson sat in his hotel suite, staring out at the L.A. skyline. It was a peaceful evening, but his mind was far from calm. He had been meaning to meet Tupac all day, but things kept coming up. Family issues, a few other commitments—none of which were as important to him as meeting the young rapper. He respected Tupac immensely; his talent, his raw honesty, and his message resonated with Michael more than he'd expected.

But now, as the hours ticked by and the evening was coming to a close, he realized there was no way he could make it to the studio that night.

"I can't keep him waiting," Michael muttered to himself. He glanced down at his watch. It was already late, and Tupac was counting on him.

He needed a way to explain himself without disappointing him. That's when it hit him—he'd send someone on his behalf.

Michael picked up the phone and dialed his assistant. "Hey, can you take this tape over to Tupac's studio? Tell him I'm really sorry, but I can't make it tonight. Just explain the situation and let him know we can reschedule for tomorrow. I'll meet him then."

The assistant confirmed, and within moments, the task was delegated. Michael's manager reassured him that everything would be fine, that the young rapper would understand. He hoped so, but deep down, Michael couldn't help but feel uneasy.

He didn't expect this kind of situation.

But what he didn't anticipate was the reaction Tupac would have when he got the news.

As Michael relaxed in his suite, expecting a simple apology and reschedule, what he heard next over the phone made his heart race.

"Put him on the phone. I don't give a fk about your excuses. You motherfker. You wasn't man enough to show up? You send some dude with a fking tape like I'm some backup dancer or some sh*t? Man, fk your feature. I don't need that."

Michael's hand went limp, nearly dropping the phone.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own breath. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. He didn't know how to respond. No one had ever spoken to him like that.

Not ever.

Sure, he had dealt with critics, tabloids, and the pressures of fame, but no one—no artist, no fan, no colleague—had ever cursed him out like Tupac just had. It was shocking, but something else hit Michael too: a strange sense of admiration.

Here was a man, younger than him, who wasn't afraid to speak his mind. Tupac didn't treat him like the King of Pop; he didn't put Michael on some pedestal. He didn't care who Michael Jackson was. He spoke to him like any other person, as if their fame didn't matter.

And that was what surprised Michael the most.

"Yo, Pac, hold on—let me explain," Michael stammered, still trying to collect himself. But Tupac wasn't having it.

"Man, I don't want to hear it. You could've made time to show up. Now I'm supposed to care about some f**king tape? Get outta here with that."

Michael couldn't help but smile to himself, despite the situation. It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting, but there was something refreshing about Tupac's unapologetic nature. His boldness reminded Michael of his own rebellious spirit when he was younger, the same fire that had led him to push boundaries in music.

"Tupac, I understand you're upset, and you have every right to be," Michael said, trying to calm him down. "But please, just hear me out. Family issues—there was no way I could make it tonight. I'm really sorry."

"Family issues, huh?" Tupac's voice softened, but there was still a sharpness to it. "I get it. But if you're gonna back out, just say it. Don't act like we're buddies just because you're Michael Jackson. You don't owe me sh*t."

The words stung, but Michael appreciated the honesty. It was a far cry from the usual "yes men" who surrounded him, people who were too afraid to challenge him. Tupac wasn't scared. He wasn't trying to kiss his ass. He was just being real.

"Okay, okay, I get it now," Michael said, trying to soothe the situation. "I didn't mean to disrespect you, Pac. I really want to work with you. I just couldn't make it tonight, but I'll be there tomorrow. I promise."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Michael could hear Tupac breathing, his frustration lingering in the silence.

"I'll hold you to that, Mike," Tupac finally said, his voice softening slightly. "Tomorrow. Don't make me look stupid again."

"I won't," Michael replied. "Tomorrow. I'll be there."

He hung up the phone, his head spinning. He hadn't expected to be spoken to like that, but in some strange way, it felt like a sign. Michael Jackson, the king of pop, had just been humbled by a young rapper who didn't give a damn about his fame. And as uncomfortable as it had been, Michael couldn't help but respect Tupac for it.

Little did either of them know, this moment would become legendary.

No one would have guessed that the confrontation would end up being a turning point, not just in their careers, but in their friendship. Tupac and Michael Jackson would go on to create some of the most iconic collaborations in music history—two legends from two different worlds coming together to change the game.

But for now, Michael Jackson sat alone in his hotel suite, reflecting on the conversation he'd just had. He smiled to himself, the weight of his words settling in.

Tupac had made it clear: no matter who you were, no one got special treatment. Not even Michael Jackson.

Tomorrow, he would make sure to show up. And when he did, he'd make it right.

The world wouldn't know it yet, but this was the beginning of a story that would go down in history. A story about respect, humility, and two titans who would go on to change the world together.

Author notes

I know some line is repeated on two chapters but I wanted write the reaction Michael Jackson and for that reason I am releasing two chapters as compensation. I sorry for repeating the same words.

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