307-309

Chapter 307 – Bold Vision 

Thanks to modern technology, even while King for a Day was still on tour, Ronan was able to continue preparing for the Grammy stage at his own pace. 

Still, despite being in constant contact with everyone, it was impossible to fully concentrate in a recording studio while on the road. The effect was noticeable, so Ronan and the band were understandably nervous. During breaks from the tour, they threw themselves into extra rehearsals with high energy and focus. 

Ronan wasn’t the only one aiming for a perfect performance. All four band members and Alice were giving it their all. 

“Ah, the legendary stage,” Curtis chuckled with a meaningful tone, but didn’t say much more—he was just as eager to see what would come of it. “So, have you finalized the performance setlist yet?” 

“‘My Demon’ and ‘Disintegrate’ (Note 1),” Ronan replied. 

Curtis raised his eyebrows in mild surprise—not just because they hadn’t reached a decision yesterday, but also because of the unexpected choice. Even after hearing the answer, Curtis was still caught off guard. “How’d you come up with that?” 

“Disintegrate” was a track from their album Seven, one with a very distinctive style. 

Why, then, did Ronan choose this for the Grammy stage? 

“Getting nominated for a Grammy—no doubt about it, this is the highest point of our careers so far,” Ronan replied seriously, though a light, expectant energy still pulsed in his voice. “We all want to deliver the best performance possible.” 

“To that end, choosing ‘Chasing the Light’ would’ve definitely been safer and more fitting. After all, we’ve performed it many times on tour, and the Grammys are all about the spotlight—it matches the theme perfectly. But if we were going to play it safe, we wouldn’t be King for a Day, would we?” 

From near obscurity to being the center of attention, King for a Day had never taken the safe route. Full moon parties, the road tour, opening for Bruno—each was a gamble, a challenge that pushed them through the darkness. 

So when it came to the Grammys, there was no reason to play it safe now. 

That’s why Ronan and Maksim convinced the rest of the band—everyone was excited about the Grammys, but they were also nervous. Their fear of messing up this once-in-a-lifetime chance caused hesitation. The safer option started to look more appealing. But after taking a step back, Ollie and Cliff both realized Ronan was right. 

Despite lingering doubt, Ollie and Cliff eventually nodded in agreement. 

There was no denying the significance of “Chasing the Light.” It was the song that really put the band on the map. But its upbeat, sunny lyrics lacked punch. It didn’t carry the same intensity or edge as “My Demon,” and it wouldn’t have the same impact on a stage like the Grammys. 

So instead, Ronan chose another track from the album—one that was darker, more explosive, and emotionally raw: “Disintegrate.” 

“So, can you start to picture what our stage performance will look like?” Ronan asked casually, though his tone radiated confidence. Professionally, his self-assurance had grown stronger—especially after the Grammy nomination. 

From “My Demon” to “Disintegrate,” the performance would reflect a gritty resilience, a kind of beautiful madness—searching for hope at the edge of darkness. 

Curtis thought for a moment. “I get the vibe you’re going for… but I still can’t quite visualize how it’s all going to come together.” 

Ronan nodded. “That’s our job.” 

Curtis agreed. “I’ve actually already arranged a new version. Want to hear it?” 

Even though the band had still been debating whether to include “Chasing the Light,” “My Demon” had been confirmed early on. So Curtis had already started working on a new arrangement for it—something special for the Grammys. 

As soon as he finished speaking, Curtis hit play. Music flowed through the video call— 

A dreamy, psychedelic electronic tone spread across the ears, with deep echoes that created a sense of cosmic vastness. The melody carried a retro 90s electronic-rock vibe, blended with modern interpretations of electronic music—futuristic and textured. 

There was no denying Curtis’ talent. His professional skills were top-notch, and it was no surprise that he had the clout to stand tall even with top-tier artists. 

“So, what do you think?” Curtis paused the music and turned to the camera, confidence radiating from his every move. 

But Ronan didn’t answer right away. He was still processing what he’d just heard, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear he wasn’t overjoyed or completely satisfied—definitely not the reaction Curtis had been expecting. 

“The overall style… it’s heavy on the psychedelic, like a weightless trip through space,” Ronan finally said. “With the right stage lighting, it could be super cool. But…” 

He paused, then looked straight into the camera. 

“I want something more grand. Darker. If we lean into the psychedelic vibe, the stage effects will overpower the performance. Our instruments, our vocals—they’ll just become background. The main draw would be the lights and soundscape. That’s more Lady Gaga’s thing—emphasizing dance, facial expressions, body language meshing with the rhythm. That’s not King for a Day.” 

If it had been anyone else, Curtis might’ve exploded by now—ranting and raving. After all, he was the arranger, the one putting in the work, and Ronan, the recipient, was now pointing fingers? 

But Curtis knew Ronan wasn’t speaking carelessly. In this creative partnership, the lines between “client” and “provider” blurred. It was more of a true collaboration, a meeting of minds. So instead of snapping back, Curtis found himself deep in thought. 

“Curtis, the vision I have for the stage is something bigger—more epic,” Ronan said. “We could use organ, violin, saxophone, French horn—even a full symphony orchestra for accompaniment. I want a sound that’s tragic and powerful, something dark and cinematic, like a space opera.” 

Ronan’s words sent a storm rippling through Curtis’ mind. 

Note 1: “Disintegrate” is a fictional song by the band ‘ty-One-Pilots’  

Chapter 308: Stealing the Spotlight 

Space opera? 

The Star Wars series has long been labeled a space opera—using the power of visual storytelling to paint sweeping emotional struggles on the grand canvas of the universe, giving audiences a fresh, immersive experience that overwhelms the senses and stirs the soul. 

And now, Ronan was trying to present a space opera on the stage of the Grammys? 

With a full symphony orchestra creating an epic backdrop, the live performance by the band—and Ronan’s vocals, delivering that final emotional punch—would breathe life into the opera, awakening deep emotions within the audience and pulling them into a mesmerizing journey through soaring melodies and dramatic highs and lows. 

Wow—Curtis felt a storm of inspiration surge through his brain, his body trembling slightly from the mix of excitement and anticipation. Most of all, he was thrilled to be a part of it. Every cell in his body was buzzing with energy. 

And Ronan was still going. His steady flow of words showed just how locked in he was—his mind racing, idea after idea tumbling out. 

"This way, we can really highlight the emotional power of the instrumental sections during the live performance. If we’ve got the budget for it, we can even invite an entire symphony orchestra to perform live, joining Ollie, Maxim, and Cliff. We’d take full advantage of the venue’s acoustics to create an immersive, majestic sound.” 

By now, Curtis could already picture the stage in his mind. Without even realizing it, he leaned forward slightly, giving away how excited he was. His own imagination kicked in as he asked, “And what about you?” 

“Don’t worry. The whole point is to showcase the band’s live performance skills. Of course I’ve thought about how I’ll fit in,” Ronan chuckled. “With a grand, dark melody to build a crushing atmosphere of despair, I’ll use my vocals to inject energy—showing the unyielding spirit of someone who refuses to give up even in the darkest moment. I might need a little help, though.” 

Curtis caught on immediately. “You’re talking about a choir?” 

A live choir could add depth and harmony to the sound, enhancing the orchestral sections and matching the original track’s sense of vast, architectural space—maybe even taking it to the next level. It was a great idea. 

Ronan nodded. “That’s one option. But I’m worried a full choir might draw too much attention and dilute the original feeling of isolation. So I’m thinking… maybe I’ll record the harmonies in advance—layering different vocal parts myself—and then during the live show, the rest of the band can join in to support. That should be enough.” 

Curtis paused for a moment, thinking it through. “But by that logic, having a full orchestra on stage might have the same issue as the choir. What if we do this—” 

That’s how brainstorming goes. One idea sparks another, and before long, the chemistry becomes unstoppable. 

“We use pre-recorded tracks for the orchestral and choral sections. Then during the performance, it’s just the band and one live violinist on stage. That gives us enough depth and grandeur, but still keeps the show focused on the band’s live energy—and your control over the performance. What do you think?” 

Curtis’s suggestion made Ronan’s eyes light up. 

Perfect! 

Ronan had been struggling with how to create an impactful stage show without losing the band’s unique identity. Curtis had just offered the ideal solution. 

Live instrumentation from the band would provide raw emotion, while the violinist added a touch of grandeur. Recorded harmonies—some done by Ronan himself—and backup vocals from the band during the performance would fill out the sound. The rest would rely on Ronan’s ability to command the stage. 

In short, they’d take My Demon and give it a darker, more epic arrangement while maximizing the band’s live appeal. Most importantly, Ronan would stay at the center of it all, ensuring that no external elements stole the spotlight. 

This was exactly what Ronan had been imagining. “That would be perfect!” 

He couldn’t help snapping his fingers in excitement. On the other end of the video call, Curtis was nodding rapidly, clearly thrilled as well. “So—any thoughts on the orchestral arrangement?” 

No hesitation. Curtis was already moving on to execution. 

And so, Ronan and Curtis launched into a deep-dive discussion. 

Creating a true space opera was no easy feat. The workload just from arranging the music would be enormous. But for Ronan and Curtis, this was the kind of challenge they lived for. Even their intense debates were a joy. 

Time flew. Two hours passed in the blink of an eye, until Ronan’s stomach made a loud protest, and Curtis admitted he needed time to digest everything they’d discussed and start sketching some arrangement ideas. They agreed to meet again the next day, then ended the call. 

Ronan left his hotel room and joined the others for lunch. The moment his taste buds registered the black pepper sauce, with its slightly spicy, rich meat flavor spreading through his mouth, it felt like walking barefoot across a frozen meadow—so refreshing and revitalizing that he wanted to stretch his arms wide and embrace the sun and snowy mountains. 

“This is Argentinian beef, right? That flavor, that texture—completely irreplaceable,” Ronan said with a contented sigh. 

Ollie chuckled. “We’ve been worried about the arrangement progress, but all you care about is where the beef’s from. That cow died a noble death.” 

Cliff shook his head. “No, no, no. That just means we’re not even as good as a cow. Tragic.” 

“Are those manly tears I see?” Ronan quipped. Cliff froze, while Ollie burst into his signature laugh, loud enough to startle the nearby plants. 

Maxim grinned. “So, how’d the meeting with Curtis go?” 

“If you were that curious, why didn’t you join the call?” Ronan shot back without mercy. 

Maxim rolled his eyes. “Curtis looks at us like we’re garbage. I’m not putting myself through that.” 

Ronan shrugged, conceding the point. Maxim clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to be wounded, but Ronan ignored him. 

“We’ve nailed down the basic style. Now it’s time to really dig into the arrangement.” 

309: Torn Between Gain and Loss 

“Today, we only settled on a general style. We still need to put a lot of thought into the arrangement.” 

Ronan’s offhand comment immediately sparked an outburst from his teammates, who protested loudly with exaggerated expressions and gestures. 

“That’s it? Just the style?” Oli looked incredulous. The intense, gladiator-like back-and-forth between Ronan and Curtis had left him utterly speechless. “Watching you two go at it, I half expected him to crawl out of the screen and strangle you.” 

“The Ring?” Cliff chimed in suddenly. They all paused—then burst out laughing. 

Ronan beamed at Cliff… but then his smile vanished. He leaned in, lowering his voice with a chilling grin, “Be careful what you wish for.” 

Instant goosebumps shot up Cliff’s back. He flailed his arms dramatically, like performing an exorcism. “Go away, go away! I didn’t wish for anything!” 

Just imagining Curtis climbing out of a screen had Cliff stumbling back in terror. Even Maxim and Oli looked horrified, their faces scrunched up in comic disgust—completely destroying any semblance of composure. Ronan couldn’t hold it in anymore and laughed out loud, glowing with joy. 

Since the Grammy nominations were announced, the band had been riding a high—lighthearted, thrilled, energized. That mood carried over to their friends in the Shining Band too. But over the past couple of days, the excitement had slowly settled, replaced by a creeping weight. 

The realization that they’d be stepping onto the Grammy stage soon began sinking in like a lead weight in their stomachs—cold, heavy, dragging them down. Anxiety and uncertainty piled up layer by layer. 

That feeling of being torn between gain and loss lingered in the air. The bigger the opportunity, the greater the fear of failure. 

It had been two full days since they’d last laughed like this. Now, after that burst of silliness, some of the pressure finally started to ease. 

Once the laughter died down, Ronan explained the progress he and Curtis had made. While Cliff and Oli both nodded along with full trust—“we believe in you” written all over their faces—Maxim listened closely, occasionally offering feedback. 

Still, Ronan insisted: This is our stage. Everyone needs to know their part and take responsibility. Everyone should be involved. Of course, too many voices could lead to chaos, so in the end, someone had to take the lead. Ronan was willing to be that “captain.” But that didn’t mean he wanted everything to go his way. For him, the process was just as important as the result—because this stage belonged to the entire band. 

“So… are we all going to sing?” Cliff asked, clearly worried. 

Ronan replied without hesitation, “Haven’t you all been singing this whole time?” 

Cliff’s shoulders slumped. The fun, lighthearted vibe from before was gone. He sighed, “But we’ve only ever done a bit of backup vocals—like, just part of the chorus. This is the Grammys. That’s a whole different level.” 

Maxim immediately got the joke and let out a quiet snicker, though he said nothing. Oli caught on a second later and burst out laughing—then quickly tried to hold it back, sneaking glances at Cliff’s expression. 

Cliff looked from one laughing teammate to the other, equal parts frustrated and defeated. 

That’s when Ronan realized: Cliff wasn’t afraid of singing. He was afraid of singing… at the Grammys. 

Truth be told, Cliff, Oli, and Maxim were not exactly vocal powerhouses. Their singing was passable—on key, at least—and fine for group harmonies. But now they had to break it down into parts, clean and professional. That required polish and patience. And that's when the cracks began to show. 

Ronan looked at Cliff and smiled gently. “Don’t worry. It’s not as hard as you think. Just do your best—like you always do.” 

Cliff muttered under his breath, “That’s what I’m worried about… what if I can’t do my best?” 

This time, even Ronan couldn’t help laughing, which only made Cliff more embarrassed. 

“Hey, I’m not you! That’s why you’re the lead singer—not me,” Cliff protested. 

Oli clapped him on the shoulder in solidarity. “Don’t stress. Maxim and I are right there with you. We’re all in the same boat.” 

“Hey! Hey hey hey!” Maxim objected loudly. “Don’t lump me in. I’ve got plenty of confidence, thank you very much. If Ronan can’t sing, I’ll gladly take over.” 

Oli and Cliff both shot Maxim suspicious looks, eyes narrowing. 

Maxim puffed up his chest with pride, staring them down like he had something to prove. But before the tension could grow, Ronan jumped in from the side, “Perfect. When it’s time to record harmonies, Maxim can take on more responsibility.” 

Maxim’s expression tightened slightly. His throat suddenly felt itchy—but he still kept his cool, nodding at Ronan. “No problem.” 

Even if Maxim kept talking big, there was no hiding anything from his bandmates. Oli and Cliff exchanged a knowing glance—and grinned from ear to ear. 

Maxim rolled his eyes at them, but then straightened up. He wasn’t afraid to sing. He wasn’t afraid of the stage. He knew he could do great. But the more confident you are, the more you want to nail it. That pressure only made itself known when you cared. 

Maxim was part of One Day Kings, and like the rest of them, he’d endured those long, difficult years of struggle. They all knew how rare this opportunity was. But unlike Cliff and Oli, Maxim believed—truly believed—that One Day Kings would shine on that Grammy stage. 

It wasn’t just hope. It was certainty. He knew they’d make it. 

Because they cared, they worried. Because they wanted it to be perfect, they were desperate to give their best. 

Every member of the band wanted to seize this Grammy moment with everything they had. Ronan was no exception. After all, who actually won the award wasn’t up to them. But what was in their control was the performance. 

They wanted the Grammy audience to see them. To think: Wait, who are these guys? Their performance is amazing—so powerful, so magnetic. That was what mattered most. 

That there was a band called One Day Kings. Awards or not, their music could open a whole new world for listeners. That pure joy—that was the point. 

“One Day Kings” needed to prove their name on the Grammy stage. That mattered far more than any trophy. (Of course… if they did win, that would be even better—perfect, even.) 

But like Cliff said, this wasn’t going to be easy. And the only way to make it happen was through one thing: Practice, practice, and more practice. Relentless practice.