Julio stood at the front of the stage, overseeing the band's first rehearsal.
Rehearsals, honestly, were a grind—tedious and exhausting. It was all about tweaking tiny details, checking and rechecking everything over and over. From a pro's perspective, it was tougher than the actual show. Every step had to be spot-on; there was no room for slacking off or joking around to get through it. Outsiders could hardly imagine how draining it really was.
One Day Kings had just kicked off their rehearsal. The soundcheck was underway, but there was still a ton of adjusting and teamwork ahead. Julio stepped aside, giving the pros space to do their thing. His job was simple: keep everything on track.
"…Girl, you're so amazing, just stay the way you are… stay the way you are… stay the way you are…"
Ronan's a cappella voice rang out, plain and unadorned. No flashy tricks, no soaring high notes—just pure, simple singing that carried the melody and lyrics. Yet, in the gentle lift of his tone, there was something captivating, pulling you in without even trying.
Take the word "amazing" in "you're so amazing." Ronan's pronunciation was fuller, rounder, with a soft curve to his lips that gave the sound a special texture. It was like a whisper in a girl's ear—quiet, intimate, with a charm that could make your heart skip a beat.
Or the key word "way" in "stay the way you are." His voice trembled ever so slightly, stretching the note just a touch, making the next sound shorter and crisper. You could hear a hint of shyness and nerves in that quiver, like the feeling of confessing a crush.
No big show-off moves, just a soft hum with his own spin on it. The real magic was in the unique texture hidden in his voice—it tugged at your heartstrings without you even noticing.
Then, maybe to test his pitch, Ronan played with a little rhythm-and-blues riff. "Stay the way you are… ahhh, ah-ah-ah…" He shifted through a few smooth runs, his clear, bright voice flowing like a crystal-clear spring over your heart—sweet, refreshing, graceful, and enchanting.
Before you knew it, a smile crept up, your eyes locked on Ronan, unable to look away. It was like your whole focus sank into this short, offhand performance. Even just a couple of casual lines carried a mesmerizing charm in their distinct texture.
Clear, clean, unique—it was as if time's hourglass slowed down. You leaned in to listen, and the rehearsal's boredom and fatigue melted away. All attention zeroed in on Ronan, making time fun again, until you lost track of it altogether.
A flicker of surprise passed through Julio's eyes.
He wasn't a pro, just a listener sharing what he liked. But Julio could definitely sense something different about Ronan—a standout quality.
"Everything Should Be You" had already won endless praise in Bruno's hands, with countless covers popping up worldwide. Yet Bruno still had his own vibe, something no one could copy. Today, though, Julio found Ronan's take shining with its own flavor, painting the song in new colors. For a classic track, that was rare—really rare.
To Julio, Ronan's version held its own against Bruno's. Now he could see why John had tapped One Day Kings as a last-minute opener. This band had a real, unique spark.
Diego, the sound engineer, felt the same but noticed different things.
From a sound perspective, Diego could tell Ronan wasn't "showing off" or trying to kiss up to the concert's star, Bruno Mars. He was all about testing rhythm and pitch, feeling out the tempo shifts, tweaking details based on highs and lows, and—most importantly—getting a handle on how his voice resonated through the in-ears.
In just those three short lines, Ronan switched between three different vocal techniques, tuning into how the vibrations hit the in-ears, then adjusting his rhythm and pitch accordingly.
For most singers, pinpointing those tiny differences was tough—it was more of a gut feeling, adjusted by instinct or raw talent. Plenty of others just crashed and burned live, with pitch, tone, and timing all over the place. Some even went off-key or cracked.
Only a rare few could pick apart those details by ear—a gift from the universe. (Professional vocal training? That's a whole different story.)
Diego could see Ronan tweaking things on the fly—a pleasant little surprise. Even in a test run, the singing was gorgeous. You could feel Ronan pouring different emotions into it:
The first half was a lover's confession—sweet and happy with a shy, nervous edge, like a caramel macchiato with a drizzle of honey, the sweetness spilling out from the rich coffee aroma.
The second half was a quiet ode to a secret crush—trying to stay calm while praising them, but carefully hiding the real feelings behind it, like black coffee without sugar or milk, its bitter depth a private taste only he could savor.
Diego loved Ronan's voice, especially its texture. It made you want to close your eyes and soak in it, letting the sound wrap around you as you drifted in it.
Sometimes, you just know talent when you hear it—that natural gift that leaves you in awe, like the spinning chairs on The Voice. Diego would've turned for Ronan in a heartbeat.
The singing floated through the Verizon Center, echoing around the venue—a normal sight at a concert rehearsal. But a few staff members paused their work, glancing up at the stage, wondering, "When did Bruno Mars get here?" Realizing it was someone else, they went back to their tasks.
After a brief pause, a slick R&B run came through the speakers—smooth and effortless, like silk slipping through your fingers. That light, flowing texture was so lovely that some staff looked up again, a faint smile in their eyes. Maybe they found the flashy skill amusing, or maybe the dazzling technique and its tender beauty left them quietly satisfied.
This unfamiliar face could sing.