Ollie couldn't wrap his head around Cliff's stress. "…Anyway, tonight's lodging is sorted, so that tip can just count as part of the stay, right? Besides, this place is way better than a motel—I'd say we're coming out ahead."
A five-star hotel room versus a damp, stuffy, cramped, paper-thin-walled, chaotic motel? No contest.
Cliff took a deep breath, feeling like his hair was falling out. "One time? You think it's just once? Have you considered how we're getting the instruments downstairs? We've got rehearsals soon—moving them again means more tips. How do we handle that?"
"…" Ollie froze. He clearly hadn't thought that far, but voices from inside the room cut their exchange short.
"Ollie! They've got bathrobes in here!"
"Whoa! There's a mini fridge too!"
"Ollie, Ollie, did you know they offer laundry service? And they'll even press pants or hem them—wow!"
Truth be told, the band's room was just a basic double standard, not some fancy suite. The amenities and services were standard hotel fare.
Ronan's over-the-top excitement had a "country bumpkin in the big city" vibe, which prompted Ollie to tease, "You better finish gawking before Alice gets here, or every YouTube viewer's gonna see you like this."
Ronan fired back without missing a beat. "If I remember right, Alice already caught you gushing in the lobby. Worry about yourself first."
Ollie's face darkened with mock indignation, and he launched into a chirpy protest.
But Ronan wasn't listening anymore—his attention had locked onto the view outside the window.
A floor-to-ceiling window flooded the room with light. Standing there, he could see the horizon stretch out, the sprawling city unfurling at his feet. The jagged skyline of buildings pieced together a natural masterpiece.
This was a sight no two-story motel could ever offer.
Cliff trailed Ollie through the bathroom corridor into the room, spotting Ronan's tall figure by the window.
Ronan was a bit taller and leaner than Ollie—187 cm of lanky, balanced frame. Sparse light outlined his silhouette, tall and upright. Against the gray sky, his silent back carried a hint of gloom, like he was lost in thought. It made you wonder what breathtaking scene his eyes were drinking in.
Then he turned around, and even with the light behind him, the excitement in his expression shone through.
"Ah! Room service! Can we order now? Pasta, pizza, meatballs, steak, fries, onion soup, burgers, fried chicken, sausage, mashed potatoes, lamb chops, sushi… They've got a ton of options!"
Cliff nearly choked on his own spit. "…"
Ronan's bright eyes darted between Cliff and Ollie, radiating a contagious energy that lit up the room. Even the cloudy sky behind him seemed to brighten a little.
Knock, knock, knock.
A rap at the door jolted Cliff. He opened it, and Maxim's voice poured in with the air.
"…I came out of the bathroom, and everyone was gone—I thought you fell out the window or something. So, you all settled? Should we sit down now and talk about Ronan and Ollie's stuff from earlier? Or head straight to the venue for rehearsal?"
As he spoke, Maxim felt a chill lock onto him, like a jolt up his spine. Every hair on his back stood up, and his words died mid-sentence. He glanced back warily—nothing. Puzzled, he turned forward and met Ronan's silent, piercing stare tracking his every move.
Maxim faltered, letting out a nervous chuckle. "What's up? Why's it feel like someone stepped on your tail?"
Whoosh!
Maxim swore Ronan's glare could devour him. Then Ollie's voice chimed in. "Ronan's in hangry mode right now."
"Oh." Maxim let out a quick sound, squirming under Ronan's gaze before looking away. "…How about we hit the restaurant for lunch first? What do you think? It's better than room service—more options, nicer vibe."
"What should we eat? Italian? French? Mexican?" Ronan's mood flipped instantly, buzzing with enthusiasm.
Maxim felt the invisible blade lift from his neck. He caught Ollie's sympathetic look—
Congrats on dodging that bullet!
In the end, One Day Kings and Alice headed to the hotel restaurant for lunch. Ronan went with Italian—
Mostly because money was tight. They weren't sure if their meals here would be covered, and pizza was the cheapest, filling option. Even Ronan, the bottomless pit, couldn't finish it all, leaning back with a full belly and sleepy eyes.
Stuffed and satisfied, Maxim brought up his next worry. "What's the plan now? Ronan, what'd the assistant say in the emails?"
From locking in the trip at dawn to racing to Washington, it'd been a whirlwind. There'd barely been time for email back-and-forth. Ronan had confirmed things with John Mark's assistant before leaving the motel, but hadn't checked since.
Maxim's question hit him, and Ronan's face blanked for a second. Maxim caught on instantly, his temples pulsing—
They hadn't even checked the emails before coming down to eat? Couldn't tell what mattered most? What was going on?
But before he could say anything, a stranger interrupted.
"Excuse me, you're One Day Kings, right?"
All eyes snapped over. A young guy stood there—tanned skin screaming surfer vibes, baseball cap, neon T-shirt, jeans, full-on street style. Not quite the image they'd expected.
"I'm Julio Lupito, John Mark's assistant. We've been emailing. Wait—did I get the right people?"
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