Concert rehearsals are no walk in the park. Pushing your body and mind to the limit day and night while trying to stay in top shape for the performance—it's a brutal balancing act, no question about it.
But to Ronan, that wasn't the real issue. They were young, fueled by passion alone, ready to fight non-stop for a week without blinking, no matter how bloodshot their eyes got. The toughest test?
Hunger!
With the concert closing in, the already packed rehearsal schedule was piling up. The band had to give it everything just to keep up, leaving no time to eat. The crew was in the same boat, burning the candle at both ends alongside them. Complaints? They swallowed those down and kept going.
For three straight days, they'd skipped lunch entirely, only eating a proper meal back at the hotel. One meal a day—that was it. The rest of the time, they survived on chocolate, bananas, and energy bars. It was rougher than busking on city streets.
If that were all, Ronan might've just grumbled a bit. He knew what mattered most—no big deal.
But the real kicker?
As the lead singer, he couldn't stuff his mouth all the time. While the others could sneak a candy or a chocolate bar for a quick boost during rehearsal, Ronan had to seize the tiny gaps between tasks, racing against the clock to chew and swallow.
The struggle was real, and words couldn't do it justice.
One time, Diego caught Ronan cramming food into his mouth and teased, "You look like a hamster stuffing carrots." Then Ollie chimed in, "Isn't it more like a squirrel with pine nuts?"
Ollie's booming laugh echoed through the room, loud enough to turn every head. The staff got a front-row seat to Ronan—cheeks puffed out, hands clutching an energy bar he'd only half-digested, frozen mid-bite.
Utter despair.
Ronan really wanted to strangle Diego and Ollie right then and there. But for the sake of enjoying the world's best food in peace someday, he held back his raging fury. Instead, he quietly squeezed a whole tube of mustard into Ollie's latte, stirred it perfectly, and left it at that.
He was basically an angel, right?
Three days of rehearsals taught Ronan two absolute truths. First: hunger was hands-down the worst torture in human history.
Second: a concert was every singer's ultimate dream. Stage size or venue capacity didn't matter—what counted was standing up there, connecting with the crowd through song, like sharing earbuds, one in each ear, creating an intimate moment just for them.
So even if the days blurred together, even if exhaustion made his head spin and his feet drag, even if hunger left him hollow, Ronan loved every second of it.
This was a life he'd never dared to dream of, and now it was real. He cherished every minute of the past few months—the band's arguments and disagreements, the times practice made him forget his growling stomach, the late nights lost in doubt and confusion.
Because he cared. Because he was driven. Because he loved it. That's why the fear crept in, wasn't it?
Looking up at the night sky, the cloudy expanse hid most of the stars, leaving only a deep blue haze with faint gray shadows drifting across it. The edges of the sky blurred, as if the whole world had slipped into a chaotic void.
"I know you're watching me… I can feel you out there…"
Ronan murmured a soft hum, but his tired brain couldn't spark much inspiration. Broken bits of melody dripped out like a clogged faucet—drip, drip, a few scattered notes, then nothing, failing to form anything whole.
"You." Who was "you"? The demons in his mind? A hazy future? A deep yearning? Or maybe a fleeting hope?
Staring at the sky, his fingers brushed the guitar strings, sketching out a couple of chords before stopping again. It still didn't feel right.
On the flight from Las Vegas to Washington, he and Ollie had messed around with some songwriting. That piece about Ollie's inner demons? It never came together.
Now, flickers of inspiration popped into Ronan's head again, but he wasn't sure if these jagged scraps would amount to anything.
As expected.
He still had so much to learn about songwriting, so many hurdles and bottlenecks to tackle. But instead of feeling down, he was buzzing with excitement. It meant he could keep growing. Countless challenges and adventures lay ahead, and that kind of life filled him with anticipation.
Some people crave stability; others crave adventure. There's no right or wrong, no high or low—just different choices. What fits you is what's true. In his last life, Ronan never took risks—he couldn't. This time, he was ready to dive in.
Tonight, the work talk was done. Ollie and the others had crashed, wiped out. But Ronan needed some fresh air—
Because tomorrow, they'd meet Bruno Mars face-to-face. From what Julio hinted, whether the band got the opening gig was up to Bruno.
In short, tomorrow was an audition. And Bruno was the judge.
From Trystan to Scooter, One Day Kings had taken hit after hit in a short span. Now it was Bruno.
They all knew the deal—this was the harsh reality indie bands faced. Seven years of grinding had taught them that. But circling back to a chance this close, after three and a half days of all-in, head-spinning rehearsals, their emotions were a tangled mess, impossible to pin down.
After dinner, the band tried to work, but it was a bust. No one could focus 100%, so practice fizzled out. They each retreated into their own worlds, unwinding in their own ways.
Cliff was antsy. Maxim was on edge. Ollie? He binged, then passed out, snoring like a freight train.
And Ronan?
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