"…We can't be sure yet if the rehearsal will go smoothly."
Julio's words are carefully measured.
"To Bruno, delivering a top-notch performance is always the priority, so we'll need to see how the stage comes together over the next few days. We're all looking forward to it." Julio's casual tone feels rehearsed, with traces of John-Mark's influence woven in everywhere.
He doesn't mention that Bruno still needs to approve the band or hint at who recommended them. Instead, he brushes over it vaguely, leaving room for the PR narrative later—whether the performance shines or flops, or even if the band doesn't make it to the stage. It ensures "Bruno's never at fault," "Bruno only gets the credit," and "any mishaps are just that—mishaps, nothing to do with Bruno."
That's the kind of protection they build around an artist: keep the spotlight on them, while managers and tour organizers shoulder any blame. Of course, if everything goes well, the glory's all Bruno's—naturally.
Dig a little deeper, and you can catch the cleverness in Julio's words.
Wyatt and Buster both glance at Julio, but neither calls out his PR game. It's not that they don't see it—they just don't see the point in nitpicking over something small. Anyway, no one knows the band rehearsing on stage. Everyone's here for Bruno.
"What's the band called?" Wyatt asks, doing his due diligence.
"King for a Day." Julio claps and laughs. "Look at me, forgetting the most important part—sorry about that. Let me take you around and show you how we're prepping for the tour. We're taking the North American finale seriously, and Bruno's pretty nervous…"
With an inviting gesture, Julio leads the two journalists away from the stage area for a tour of the venue.
Buster observes everything closely: what the standing pit looks like, the view from the second-floor seats, the sound quality onsite—stuff like that. He's thinking from the audience's perspective:
What kind of concert experience will people get? That's what online readers want to know.
Wyatt, on the other hand, couldn't care less about the venue. His focus is all on Bruno: special arrangements for the North American finale, plans after the tour wraps, how Bruno's performing this time around. He's approaching it from a pro angle:
How does this tour fit into Bruno's career, and what's the bigger story? That's the deep dive print magazines crave.
Of course, it's not a hard divide. It depends more on the outlet and the reporter's style. Buster and Wyatt both know exactly what they're aiming for, so their questions hit the mark. The short chat flows easily.
The interview lasts maybe fifteen minutes. For Wyatt and Buster, it's just one piece of a bigger puzzle today. They've still got more angles to cover—different methods, different sources, including a sit-down with Bruno—before their stories come together.
That's why, after a quick loop around, the visit wraps up. It feels a bit rushed.
"I'm heading out. You?" Wyatt asks Buster politely.
Buster blinks, then smiles and nods. "Yeah, I'm done too."
Wyatt exchanges a few more pleasantries with Julio—something about grabbing a meal next time—while Buster's gaze sweeps the room, landing on the stage.
It's King for a Day's first rehearsal day, and it's a mess—chaotic and tedious. A lot of it is technical grinding, so there's no full performance to catch while they're there. It's more like a fractured nitpicking session.
Plus, neither Buster nor Wyatt has much interest in an unknown band, so they haven't paid much attention—until now.
The band members are up there discussing something, but they're too far to use mics, so Buster can't hear a thing. Still, he lifts his camera and aims the lens at the stage. Might as well snap a shot of the band deep in rehearsal.
Click.
The shutter freezes time, locking the moment forever. Just as his finger eases off, Buster catches a glint of light:
It's probably the lighting tech tweaking positions, a stray halo brushing across one of the band member's cheeks. Looks like the lead singer—no instruments, just a white T-shirt and jeans. Simple and natural, but it can't hide the striking figure he cuts.
The light skims his cheek, tracing faint shadows. From this distance, his expression's a blur, but there's a hint of focus and intensity in the slight furrow of his brow. He lifts his right hand, ruffling his messy hair in mild frustration. His face comes fully into view—clear eyes shining bright amid the play of light and shadow, instantly lighting up the frame.
Click!
Buster instinctively snaps another shot, capturing that heart-stopping flash. Only after the shutter releases does he realize his heartbeat froze too. It's like he glimpsed time itself solidify—not just looks or build, not even just vibe, but a unique charm radiating from the inside out.
He lowers the camera and looks at the stage with his naked eye, but the feeling's gone. It's just a bunch of ordinary young guys rehearsing—nothing special. Buster starts to wonder if he imagined it, if his eyes played a trick on him.
It's like a glitch in time—a half-real, dreamlike moment where he saw a mirage that wasn't there. Blink again, and it's gone, because it never was.
"You okay?" Julio's voice cuts through, pulling Buster back.
Buster snaps out of it and clears his throat. "No, I'm fine." But then he reconsiders. "That guy on stage, white T-shirt and jeans—who is he?"
"Ronan Cooper, the band's lead singer," Julio answers quickly. He notices Buster mulling over the name and adds, "Want me to introduce you? He's a talented kid. Maybe you should meet him."
Julio's enthusiasm is unmistakable.
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