156-158

Chapter 156: Triumphant Return 

Gush, gush. 

Gush, gush! 

The air was boiling. A steamy heat filled the Verizon Center, as if summoning the peak of summer back to early autumn in Washington. Drenched in sweat, people danced wildly, leaped freely, and sang with abandon, basking in scorching sunlight for a party that stretched to the edge of the world. 

The warm-up set was over. Thirty minutes felt like a dream—standing atop the clouds, then plummeting back down in free fall. 

Exhilarating! 

One Day Kings had nailed their mission and returned victorious. As they stepped off the stage, every pore in Ronan’s body seemed to burst open. He was soaked, like he’d just been fished out of a pool. Sweat dripped from his drenched hair, and he felt both drained and electrified— 

Yes, electrified. 

After pouring everything out, his chest and mind felt clear. Joy and happiness surged through every vein, mingling with exhaustion so deep he could barely lift his feet. But the comfort and thrill in his heart were undeniable, and a grin kept breaking across his face. 

Standing center stage was like standing on Everest’s peak, taking in boundless vistas. The feeling was pure bliss. 

Straight ahead, Ronan spotted Alice. 

She was hoisting her camera by the backstage tunnel, capturing the precious footage in real time, welcoming the triumphant band back. 

Alice’s lips curved up uncontrollably. Like the crowd, she’d felt the heat of their passion up close—close enough to nearly singe her soul. Her eyes welled up slightly, a wordless emotion swelling in her chest. It wasn’t just the performance’s massive success—it was the stage’s dazzling glow. 

Ronan shone because of the stage, and the stage sparkled because of him. He was born for it—this was his world! 

Then she saw Ronan laughing with his mouth wide open, no care for appearances. Shoulders slouched, he ambled over lazily, drenched in sweat. Alice wrinkled her nose, dodging as he approached, but she was half a beat too slow—he caught her. 

“Ah! Ronan!” She shoved him away, full of mock disgust, resisting with her whole body. “You’re soaked!” His clothes probably stank by now. Plus, the camera was a mess—shaky and out of focus, a total disaster! 

“Hahaha!” Ronan cackled like a prankster who’d won, his eyes dancing with mischief. But a second later, he widened them in dramatic protest. “I’m starving. God, I can barely stand—I could eat a cow right now. No, two!” 

“Ronan!” 

“Ronan!” 

Cliff called out. Maxim called out. Nearby staff joined in too. The whole world seemed to be shouting his name, voices overlapping in protest: One minute they’re basking in the glow of the warm-up set, and the next he’s talking food? 

Was he seriously ruining the moment? 

But Alice knew Ronan too well. Amid the rising chatter, she paused, then burst into bright laughter. 

Classic Ronan. 

Then Ollie’s voice squeezed through the chaos, “Me too, me too!” Before he could finish, thuds rang out—followed by his yelps. “Ow! Ow! Who hit me… Help!” The scene was pure pandemonium. 

The warm-up had been an unbelievable success, and every staff member at the Verizon Center knew how rare that was. 

A last-minute band, less than a week to prepare, nonstop rehearsals day and night… Everyone was on edge, sleep-deprived and hangry, teetering on the brink of losing it. But—they did it! Not only did they pull it off, they smashed it beyond belief. 

A sense of achievement and satisfaction swelled in their chests, but it couldn’t outshine the wild, radiant happiness—the true high of a concert. 

Backstage, everyone without a task swarmed over, joining the bandmates they’d suffered and laughed with over the past few days, cheering together. 

Buzz, buzz, buzz! 

Buzz, buzz, buzz! 

Backstage erupted in noise as a flood of people poured in. The hot, rolling air swept along with them, faintly carrying the searing energy from the concert floor. Front to back, it all blended into one seamless wave. 

“Haha, I like this band!” Kane Williams roared with laughter from the rocking standing section in the dense crowd. 

The warm-up was done, but the audience was just getting started. Heat pulsed through the venue, every flushed cheek glowing with excitement and joy. Eyes met by chance, sparkling with light. 

Sophie Viellard, standing beside him, laughed too. She didn’t say much—just raised her hands high, catching the lingering notes in the air, swaying freely as if the rhythm still pulsed through her. 

Kane’s spirits soared, his eyes shining as he shouted, “You saw it, right? The lead singer’s face when he introduced them at the end: ‘Welcome to our kingdom—we’re your One Day Kings. No need to kneel, just party!’” 

“No need to kneel, just rise up.” 

Sophie jumped, hyped, yelling back at Kane, “No need to kneel! Party hard!” It was like a rallying cry. 

In an instant, the crowd around them joined in, arms raised, shouting the same slogan. Their shared excitement sparked screams they couldn’t hold back. Every cell buzzed with that surging energy, like they were standing at the mouth of an erupting volcano: 

“No need to kneel! Party hard!” 

As the warm-up neared its end, the atmosphere kept boiling. The crowd lost themselves in it, swept up in raw passion and fervor, forgetting this was just the opener. Then, in the heaviest moment, Ronan dropped the simplest, most perfect intro for the band. 

“One Day Kings!” 

It echoed the playful self-mockery of skipping intros at the start, proving their belief with action— 

Performance defined them! 

They were One Day Kings—the rulers of tonight’s stage! 

Chapter 157: Jubilation Unleashed 

Tonight, One Day Kings ruled the Verizon Center—even if just for the opening act. Like their name suggests, they were kings for a single day, no question about it. The moment their feet hit the stage, they owned that dazzling space. No words, no hype, no endorsements could’ve done it better or more directly. They blazed with a radiance that carved a deep imprint in every audience member’s mind.  

“One Day Kings.”  

Even if no one had heard of them before, even if Bruno Mars was the night’s real star, even if the crowd started out indifferent—it didn’t matter. None of that stopped the genuine love bubbling up from the audience. The performance, the skill, the quality—it all spoke for itself. Standing there, feeling it live, that’s the magic of a concert: total immersion, pure enjoyment.  

“No need to kneel! Let’s revel to the fullest!”  

In their world, music was the only rule, and celebration the only requirement. They shed every burden, dancing wildly until dawn.  

Kane, Sophie—didn’t matter who—they could still feel the melody surging through them, and in the midst of the cheers, they started moving again. All around them, strangers-turned-friends did the same. No one could sit it out.  

“Ha! I’m into this band!”  

“One Day Kings, right? One Day Kings—yeah, I’m sold.”  

“Love it! Guess Bruno and I have the same taste after all.”  

“Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, I’m getting into it now—come on, let’s move, guys, let’s move!”  

“What’s that first song called? I’m hooked!”  

“Whoa, what a surprise—this band’s legit!”  

Different faces lit up with the same joy and excitement. The chatter buzzed around their ears, energy radiating through every inch of them. Shouts and slogans tangled together, sparking an unbelievable vibe. Before the main event even started, they’d nailed the warmup.  

For a fleeting moment, some even forgot who the real headliner was, thinking this was One Day Kings’ show. It was just a tiny fraction of the crowd, but it was real—and it proved how massive their opening set had been.  

The stage was where One Day Kings truly shone.  

From Full Moon Parties to street gigs to a ten-thousand-strong concert stage—it didn’t matter. Once they stepped up, lights or no lights, with just one person watching, they could perform and light up the place.  

The set kicked off with a hiccup—nerves led to a rookie mistake—but they brushed off the clouds with a stellar performance that left a lasting mark on the crowd. They debuted in style, and after tonight, their name wouldn’t just fade away.  

Buzz buzz buzz.  

Buzz buzz buzz.  

The Verizon Center pulsed with a tidal wave of excitement, fully locked into concert mode. People started belting out Bruno’s songs, itching to welcome him for the main course. At the same time, that wild energy spilled back into the green room, uniting the stage and backstage in a frenzy of cheers that wouldn’t quit.  

“…No, listen, I’m telling you, my brain just blanked. I had no thoughts—like I was walking on clouds. I didn’t even know what was happening. When Ronan signaled me, I didn’t catch it. My reaction time was totally shot…”  

“What, you’re proud of that now?”  

“No, no, don’t twist my words! I mean it felt different—really different. A full house, ten thousand people—it’s a whole other level. Come on, you guys, be honest, hand on heart—didn’t tonight’s stage feel different? If Ronan hadn’t pulled it together on the fly, we’d probably still be screwing up.”  

“No way, don’t drag us into your mess!”  

Cliff gaped at Ollie, who was indignantly distancing himself. The guy who flubbed the most in practice was drawing a line in the sand?  

“Ollie Love, you—!”  

Cliff raised a hand to strike, but one look at Ollie’s hulking frame stopped him cold. He slumped, deflated.  

When John-Mark stepped into the green room, he walked into a burst of collective laughter—joy laced with excitement, simple yet pure. It was the kind of happiness that lifted everyone’s spirits, even onlookers. A simplicity Bruno’s life had slowly lost.  

Tonight made it clear to John why, after a brief chat with Ronan, Bruno had locked in One Day Kings as the opener. They carried a raw, destructive edge—like staring death in the face—yet somehow birthed hope from the ashes.  

Especially the lead singer. John could see the light in him.  

“Hey, John!” Cliff spotted him first—they’d met a couple days ago and hit it off. With a VIP entering the green room, Cliff’s radar pinged instantly.  

John felt the eyes swinging his way and waved them off. “Sorry to crash your celebration! But I’ve gotta say, tonight’s set was five-star—absolute perfection. That opening move, Ronan getting the whole crowd clapping? Pure genius!”  

No fluff—he meant it.  

Ronan scratched his head, staying quiet. Luckily, John wasn’t here for back-and-forth pleasantries. His gaze landed on Ronan with a smile, and he kept going. “Bruno sent me specifically to praise you guys. He’s so grateful for that top-tier performance. If he weren’t prepping to go on right now, he’d be here himself, gushing about it.”  

The opening act was done. A five-to-ten-minute break let the crowd catch their breath, and then the night’s star would take the stage.  

Bruno was at the central lift, gearing up for his entrance, so he couldn’t stick around to party with One Day Kings. The warmup was just that—warmup. The main dish was coming, and that’s what mattered.  

Still, Bruno was buzzing, barely containing his thrill. He’d insisted John come in person to share his admiration. For anyone who truly loved music, saying “no” to tonight’s set was impossible.  

Chapter 158: The Big-Time Manager 

John Mark’s arrival carried weight—not just for himself, but for Bruno too. A simple sentence and a smiling expression were enough to make that clear. 

Ollie and Maxim’s first instinct was to look at Ronan, almost unable to believe their ears. Compared to their meeting with Scooter, this was night and day—pure heaven versus total hell. It felt too good, too happy, to be real. 

Of course, John was just the tour manager, not a producer or agent like Scooter, but his praise still hit hard. 

“Is this just polite small talk?” 

Ollie and Maxim’s eyes flickered with that hesitation, a mix of hope and doubt swirling in their gazes. 

Ronan didn’t have an answer either. He could sense the sincerity in John’s words and trusted they were genuine. But he still had doubts about their performance—did they really deserve this kind of praise? 

In that split second, their exchanged glances said so much, yet nothing clear came through. 

“Thanks, thank you so much. And thanks for the email you sent us,” Cliff chimed in. He was the band’s social ace, stepping up when the others faltered. It was polite but crucial, and his earnest words lifted John’s smile higher. 

After all, John was the one who’d invited One Day Kings to open the show—he deserved some credit. 

John smiled lightly, skipping further pleasantries. He stepped aside, gesturing to a stranger behind him. “And one more thing—Mr. Shuke insisted on meeting you in person.” 

Mr. Shuke? 

Could it be Bruno’s manager, Aaron Bay-Schuke? 

Back when Bruno hit a career slump after leaving Motown, he floundered for three quiet years—no gigs, no opportunities. Then this big-shot manager spotted his talent, brokered a deal with Atlantic Records, and paved the way for Bruno’s rise. 

“Mr. Shuke is just the fancy title on my business card. Call me Aaron.” 

The man stepping forward had a flat buzz cut, a low voice, and a scruffy beard—unkempt in a way that stood out. His thick, curly black hair and wild, Crayon Shin-chan eyebrows screamed Jewish heritage. He didn’t look like a music manager—more like a Wall Street venture capitalist. 

No surprise, this was Aaron Bay-Schuke. 

Aaron approached with a warm smile. Cliff and Maxim hurried to meet him, while Ronan and Ollie hung back, trading looks— 

“Is that the manager?” 

“How should I know? But it seems like it.” 

“What’s a manager doing here?” 

“Buddy, I’m as clueless as you are, okay?” 

Amid their confusion and banter, Aaron’s voice cut through. “So, this must be the lead singer, Ronan, right? Your performance tonight left a lasting impression on us.” 

Ronan was mid-eye-roll at Ollie when he got called out. No time to grumble about how fast the small talk wrapped up—he turned to Aaron. “That’s not great, is it? I mean, Bruno’s the star tonight. Our set’s probably better off forgotten quick.” 

Well… 

“Haha.” Aaron seemed to love Ronan’s deadpan quip—though Ronan wasn’t joking. Still, it landed well. “No worries, my memory’s sharp. I can handle both stages, no problem,” Aaron replied, matching it with a dry, German-precision comeback. 

Cold joke versus cold joke. 

Ronan cracked a bright laugh. “Sounds like your CPU’s got plenty of RAM.” 

Ollie didn’t find it funny and was about to roast Ronan, but then he caught Cliff’s pained, I-want-to-die expression and snorted instead. 

Aaron grinned wide. “I’ve got to say, tonight’s show was full of energy and life. I felt the stage come alive—that kind of charisma is a rare gift for any performer. It’s a blessing from above. You’re meant for the stage.” 

Ronan was floored. After John, now Aaron was piling on high praise too? Was this some post-opener ritual? 

Or just social fluff—like how Scooter’s meeting was an audition, but this was just a friendly chat with no stakes, so they tossed compliments freely? Should he even take it seriously? 

He glanced at his bandmates for a clue, but they’d all gone robot-mode. Even Cliff, the small-talk champ, looked like he’d glitched out. Clearly, they weren’t up for this either—Scooter’s shadow lingered, leaving them unsure how to handle John and Aaron’s words. 

Ronan’s eyes slid back to Aaron, Ollie’s voice echoing in his head: You’re worth it. 

“Sorry, we’re kind of a mess,” Ronan said after a beat, a smile tugging at his lips. If he didn’t know how to respond, he’d just be real. “It’s been forever since we last got praise from pros—maybe the first time ever. We don’t know how to act, and yeah, we’re fumbling. Hope we don’t come off too rude or over-the-top.” 

That raw, honest reaction caught Aaron off guard. He paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes, then nodded lightly. “No need to overthink it—just take it as it comes. If pros haven’t praised you before, it doesn’t mean you’re not good. It just means you haven’t been noticed yet.” 

Aaron spoke so slowly, so steadily—like he had everything under control. It calmed the listener’s nerves, though it didn’t quite fit the entertainment world’s constant party vibe. Especially now, amid the concert’s chaos, Aaron felt like a monk wandering into a spider’s den—oddly out of place, almost comical. 

But that very style made his words hit hard, drawing the band’s full attention. 

In Aaron’s hands, any situation seemed to lose its problems. He always carried himself with grace. “Trust me, you’ll hear plenty more praise like this in the future. Because you deserve it.”