"…No, no, no, Bruno insisted I pass along his apologies. He knows how rushed this invite was—how much heavy prep you've got to do for the tour gig. It's not easy, and he's really grateful you said yes…"
Julio Lupito's cheerful explanation filled the air, his words brimming with sincerity and warmth. It didn't feel like hollow small talk—even if it was, he pulled it off so well that anyone listening would feel at ease and happy.
Due to some email delays, Julio and Ronan hadn't sorted everything out beforehand. So Julio showed up at the hotel in person, hoping to meet the band face-to-face right away, get things rolling, and sort out the details as efficiently as possible.
He'd gone to their rooms first but found no one there. Then he heard they were at the restaurant, and that's how they ended up connecting.
The band was caught off guard. This was Bruno Mars—a big name—and they were nobodies. Yet here was Julio, not acting superior at all, but showing up eager and friendly, ready to work together. It was so formal, so grand, it almost felt unreal. They couldn't help but wonder: Was he for real?
A scam, maybe?
If not, then why all this?
With a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside, the band quickly wrapped up their chat with Julio and headed off for a first rehearsal at the venue.
Cliff's worry about hauling gear? Not an issue. Julio brought a pro concert crew to the hotel, handled everything, and then ushered the band into a sleek van to head to the site. Their polished, practiced vibe showed what real professionalism looked like.
Riding in the cushy van, Ronan couldn't help but think of their beat-up RV parked back at the Las Vegas airport. Its AC had died ages ago, leaving them to roll down the windows, choking on gas fumes and engine noise. They'd gotten used to it over time, though, and now he almost missed it.
Still, given the choice, a cool, comfy van won hands down. Ronan was just marveling at the wild six-hour turnaround.
It all felt like a dream.
Especially when the van slowed at a traffic light. Ronan glanced out and saw a flood of familiar blocky characters—Chinese signs—filling his view. His eyes locked onto them, a flicker of surprise deep inside. Time and space twisted, like he'd slipped back home.
The line between dream and reality blurred again.
"That's Chinatown," Julio said, catching Ronan's gaze. "One of the biggest Chinese communities on the East Coast. Not quite New York's level, but it's got its own charm. Lunar New Year here is something to see."
Julio's voice tugged Ronan back to the present. Feeling that close to home made his heart tremble a little, a familiar comfort loosening his thoughts. "You hang out around here a lot?"
"Nah, haha." Julio shook his head. "I live in L.A. I just got to Washington two weeks before you guys. This is all tourist info stuff. We're all just visitors here—only get to see what they show outsiders, no chance to dig deeper."
Julio's way of talking was fun—his cadence bounced up and down, some words mispronounced, others shaped by habit. Even plain chit-chat sounded like a song, his tone and expressions turning it light and lively.
"Your accent's got a Spanish lilt to it," Ronan said, his sharp ears picking up the fleeting details.
Julio's face lit up, and he clapped his hands. "Hey, how'd you guess? Third-generation Mexican immigrant here. Not many catch the accent, but I grew up with my grandma, so I've got some quirks. Bruno's the only other one who spots it."
Cliff had already spent ages chatting with Julio, keeping things easy and fun. Now, this little detour made the vibe even warmer—less work, more personal. The conversation didn't let up until they hit the parking lot.
"Oh, look at me…" Julio tapped his head with a laugh, realizing he'd gotten sidetracked. "We're here. This is the spot for the week—Verizon Center."
The Verizon Center sat two streets over from Chinatown, on a totally ordinary road. From a distance, it could've been a repair shop or a big-box store—its everyday vibe blending into the hum of traffic. You'd miss it if you weren't looking.
But swing around to the front, and a wide, open parking lot stretched out. Clean, sharp lines traced a building that hid layers in its chaos—a quiet oasis in the bustle, ready to welcome thousands for a special night.
Not a bar, not a pop-up stage—this was a real venue. Built for performances, with a proper stage and pro gear, designed for people to come enjoy a show.
Just one look, and the excitement hit hard. In seven years since the One Day Kings started, this was their first time on a legit stage—where people paid for tickets, showed up just to hear music. Sure, it wasn't their concert, but still.
Standing in front of the Verizon Center, all the jittery doubts and nagging worries finally settled, sinking into solid ground.
Maxim had done his homework. Bruno Mars' show this week was definitely at the Verizon Center—confirmed by multiple official sources.
He'd even dug into the venue itself, making sure they weren't about to get scammed or dragged off somewhere sketchy in an unfamiliar city.
Now, piece by piece, it all lined up. The puzzle was complete, the alarm bells silenced. The tangled mess of emotions—worry and joy, unease and hope—that had been churning since last night could finally take a backseat. Real happiness and hype took over, building toward the weekend ahead.
The band's moment to shine was almost here!
Reality slammed down hard, heavy in the pit of their stomachs, a wave of nausea bubbling up.