They'd arrived at the Verizon Center.
Stepping from the underground parking lot into the venue, rows upon rows of densely packed audience seats unfolded neatly before their eyes. Outside, it hadn't sunk in yet, but now, inside the arena, the sheer grandeur hit them full force.
Ten thousand seats.
What did that even mean? Only now, seeing it with their own eyes, did they grasp how daunting it was. The band's biggest crowd so far had been the Full Moon Party's four hundred—a leap from that to ten thousand was a gap so vast it short-circuited their brains. Words couldn't capture the rush of emotions swirling inside.
Back when they'd skimmed news headlines—ten-thousand-person concerts, fifty-thousand-strong gatherings, venues at less than 50% capacity—those numbers felt abstract, hard to judge. Their minds clung to skewed assumptions—
A two-thousand-seat venue not selling out? A ten-thousand-person show being "small-scale"? Madison Square Garden only holding twenty thousand?
It seemed like filling a ten-thousand-seat arena should be a breeze—after all, Earth had seven billion people.
But standing here in the Verizon Center, they realized how laughable that was. Forget ten thousand—even a two-thousand-seat venue was massive.
The arena was empty now, save for staff bustling back and forth like ants in a sprawling void. Looking up, the seats stretched beyond what the eye could measure. Above, a giant four-sided pillar screen hung like a spaceship, its silent black surface ready to beam the stage to every corner in 360 degrees.
The smallness of standing before such majesty sent Ronan's thoughts drifting.
He tapped his foot lightly on the wooden floor, feeling the faint creak—
In this vast space, tiny sounds couldn't carry far. His ears caught the subtle vibration of his sole against the ground, but everything—sight, sound—felt distant and stretched. It was as if his nerve endings were losing their grip, the stage he could command slipping away bit by bit.
Obviously, this was unlike any stage they'd tackled before—not even the wide-open streets compared. With no experience to lean on, everything was new, everything unfamiliar.
So Ronan closed his eyes, letting go of sight to tune into sound.
Whoosh.
The breeze flowed like a gentle stream, pouring in from vents all around—soft, calm, yet it made the space feel even more ethereal. Those faint noises rode the wind, echoes of sounds he'd thought were lost bouncing back after a few seconds from different corners.
"…The lighting angle's off—it'll clash with the spotlight…"
"This is the sound crew…"
"…I told you days ago, this speaker's busted, and still nothing…"
"Lighting team here…"
"…No, no, Bruno scrapped the idea of entering from there—safety concerns…"
"Stage crew's got another team…"
"…We need a soundcheck. Who's going up to test the stage?"
Murmurs buzzed from every direction, each person locked into their role with focus and professionalism.
Voices from different spots ricocheted into echoes, the air's subtle tremors revealing the venue's mystique.
No wonder!
No wonder singers rehearsed for every stage, every venue. It wasn't just about lights or sound affecting the show—capacity, layout, airflow, all of it shifted the performance. Every gig was unique—
Rehearsals were about owning the show and respecting the crowd.
Eyes shut, the arena's scale sharpened in his mind. Then an image flickered—a full house, him belting out songs on stage, applause and lights blazing, cheers roaring like he stood atop the world.
That joy swelled in his chest, every muscle itching to scream, every cell soaking in icy Sprite, floating in the endless blue of the Mediterranean. Sunlight and sea crashed into a boundless expanse, melting his body into the blue while his spirit sprouted wings, soaring on the wind, like he owned it all.
"I'd stand on this stage until the end of my life."
Now, Ronan finally glimpsed the edge of that feeling. An ordinary stage held a quiet, magical pull that set his heart racing. He couldn't fully grasp it, but it cracked open the door to a whole new world.
Deep breath.
Another.
After a few, his pounding heart settled, though it still thumped hard against his ribs. A dull ache grounded him in reality, and he slowly opened his eyes. There, not far ahead, stood Julio.
Julio was watching him with a warm smile. Only then did Ronan realize he'd zoned out—Julio had been introducing the crew or briefing them on tour details, and he'd missed it all. A flush of embarrassment crept in.
"Sorry," Ronan said honestly, no excuses, a sheepish grin on his face. Getting awestruck over a venue before even rehearsing? Kind of humiliating.
But Julio waved it off, beaming. "No, no, no need. You know, Bruno once told me about his first time on stage. He said he knew he'd mess up—his hands and feet had no clue where to go, he was that excited. But he wasn't scared. Even if he'd split his pants mid-stage, he knew he'd fall hard for it."
He paused, winking at Ronan. "I think anyone who truly loves music and performing feels that way."
Ronan laughed, scratching his head.
Julio didn't linger on it. "Ready? We've got a lot to do today—this is just the start. You good to kick off rehearsals now?"