128-129

Chapter 128: A Solid Reality

“…No, no, no, Bruno insisted I pass along his apologies. He knows how rushed this invite was—how much heavy prep you’ve got to do for the tour gig. It’s not easy, and he’s really grateful you said yes…”

Julio Lupito’s cheerful explanation filled the air, his words brimming with sincerity and warmth. It didn’t feel like hollow small talk—even if it was, he pulled it off so well that anyone listening would feel at ease and happy.

Due to some email delays, Julio and Ronan hadn’t sorted everything out beforehand. So Julio showed up at the hotel in person, hoping to meet the band face-to-face right away, get things rolling, and sort out the details as efficiently as possible.

He’d gone to their rooms first but found no one there. Then he heard they were at the restaurant, and that’s how they ended up connecting.

The band was caught off guard. This was Bruno Mars—a big name—and they were nobodies. Yet here was Julio, not acting superior at all, but showing up eager and friendly, ready to work together. It was so formal, so grand, it almost felt unreal. They couldn’t help but wonder: Was he for real?

A scam, maybe?

If not, then why all this?

With a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside, the band quickly wrapped up their chat with Julio and headed off for a first rehearsal at the venue.

Cliff’s worry about hauling gear? Not an issue. Julio brought a pro concert crew to the hotel, handled everything, and then ushered the band into a sleek van to head to the site. Their polished, practiced vibe showed what real professionalism looked like.

Riding in the cushy van, Ronan couldn’t help but think of their beat-up RV parked back at the Las Vegas airport. Its AC had died ages ago, leaving them to roll down the windows, choking on gas fumes and engine noise. They’d gotten used to it over time, though, and now he almost missed it.

Still, given the choice, a cool, comfy van won hands down. Ronan was just marveling at the wild six-hour turnaround.

It all felt like a dream.

Especially when the van slowed at a traffic light. Ronan glanced out and saw a flood of familiar blocky characters—Chinese signs—filling his view. His eyes locked onto them, a flicker of surprise deep inside. Time and space twisted, like he’d slipped back home.

The line between dream and reality blurred again.

“That’s Chinatown,” Julio said, catching Ronan’s gaze. “One of the biggest Chinese communities on the East Coast. Not quite New York’s level, but it’s got its own charm. Lunar New Year here is something to see.”

Julio’s voice tugged Ronan back to the present. Feeling that close to home made his heart tremble a little, a familiar comfort loosening his thoughts. “You hang out around here a lot?”

“Nah, haha.” Julio shook his head. “I live in L.A. I just got to Washington two weeks before you guys. This is all tourist info stuff. We’re all just visitors here—only get to see what they show outsiders, no chance to dig deeper.”

Julio’s way of talking was fun—his cadence bounced up and down, some words mispronounced, others shaped by habit. Even plain chit-chat sounded like a song, his tone and expressions turning it light and lively.

“Your accent’s got a Spanish lilt to it,” Ronan said, his sharp ears picking up the fleeting details.

Julio’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands. “Hey, how’d you guess? Third-generation Mexican immigrant here. Not many catch the accent, but I grew up with my grandma, so I’ve got some quirks. Bruno’s the only other one who spots it.”

Cliff had already spent ages chatting with Julio, keeping things easy and fun. Now, this little detour made the vibe even warmer—less work, more personal. The conversation didn’t let up until they hit the parking lot.

“Oh, look at me…” Julio tapped his head with a laugh, realizing he’d gotten sidetracked. “We’re here. This is the spot for the week—Verizon Center.”

The Verizon Center sat two streets over from Chinatown, on a totally ordinary road. From a distance, it could’ve been a repair shop or a big-box store—its everyday vibe blending into the hum of traffic. You’d miss it if you weren’t looking.

But swing around to the front, and a wide, open parking lot stretched out. Clean, sharp lines traced a building that hid layers in its chaos—a quiet oasis in the bustle, ready to welcome thousands for a special night.

Not a bar, not a pop-up stage—this was a real venue. Built for performances, with a proper stage and pro gear, designed for people to come enjoy a show.

Just one look, and the excitement hit hard. In seven years since the One Day Kings started, this was their first time on a legit stage—where people paid for tickets, showed up just to hear music. Sure, it wasn’t their concert, but still.

Standing in front of the Verizon Center, all the jittery doubts and nagging worries finally settled, sinking into solid ground.

Maxim had done his homework. Bruno Mars’ show this week was definitely at the Verizon Center—confirmed by multiple official sources.

He’d even dug into the venue itself, making sure they weren’t about to get scammed or dragged off somewhere sketchy in an unfamiliar city.

Now, piece by piece, it all lined up. The puzzle was complete, the alarm bells silenced. The tangled mess of emotions—worry and joy, unease and hope—that had been churning since last night could finally take a backseat. Real happiness and hype took over, building toward the weekend ahead.

The band’s moment to shine was almost here!

Reality slammed down hard, heavy in the pit of their stomachs, a wave of nausea bubbling up.

Chapter 129: A Stage of Its Own

They’d arrived at the Verizon Center.

Stepping from the underground parking lot into the venue, rows upon rows of densely packed audience seats unfolded neatly before their eyes. Outside, it hadn’t sunk in yet, but now, inside the arena, the sheer grandeur hit them full force.

Ten thousand seats.

What did that even mean? Only now, seeing it with their own eyes, did they grasp how daunting it was. The band’s biggest crowd so far had been the Full Moon Party’s four hundred—a leap from that to ten thousand was a gap so vast it short-circuited their brains. Words couldn’t capture the rush of emotions swirling inside.

Back when they’d skimmed news headlines—ten-thousand-person concerts, fifty-thousand-strong gatherings, venues at less than 50% capacity—those numbers felt abstract, hard to judge. Their minds clung to skewed assumptions—

A two-thousand-seat venue not selling out? A ten-thousand-person show being “small-scale”? Madison Square Garden only holding twenty thousand?

It seemed like filling a ten-thousand-seat arena should be a breeze—after all, Earth had seven billion people.

But standing here in the Verizon Center, they realized how laughable that was. Forget ten thousand—even a two-thousand-seat venue was massive.

The arena was empty now, save for staff bustling back and forth like ants in a sprawling void. Looking up, the seats stretched beyond what the eye could measure. Above, a giant four-sided pillar screen hung like a spaceship, its silent black surface ready to beam the stage to every corner in 360 degrees.

The smallness of standing before such majesty sent Ronan’s thoughts drifting.

He tapped his foot lightly on the wooden floor, feeling the faint creak—

In this vast space, tiny sounds couldn’t carry far. His ears caught the subtle vibration of his sole against the ground, but everything—sight, sound—felt distant and stretched. It was as if his nerve endings were losing their grip, the stage he could command slipping away bit by bit.

Obviously, this was unlike any stage they’d tackled before—not even the wide-open streets compared. With no experience to lean on, everything was new, everything unfamiliar.

So Ronan closed his eyes, letting go of sight to tune into sound.

Whoosh.

The breeze flowed like a gentle stream, pouring in from vents all around—soft, calm, yet it made the space feel even more ethereal. Those faint noises rode the wind, echoes of sounds he’d thought were lost bouncing back after a few seconds from different corners.

“…The lighting angle’s off—it’ll clash with the spotlight…”

“This is the sound crew…”

“…I told you days ago, this speaker’s busted, and still nothing…”

“Lighting team here…”

“…No, no, Bruno scrapped the idea of entering from there—safety concerns…”

“Stage crew’s got another team…”

“…We need a soundcheck. Who’s going up to test the stage?”

Murmurs buzzed from every direction, each person locked into their role with focus and professionalism.

Voices from different spots ricocheted into echoes, the air’s subtle tremors revealing the venue’s mystique.

No wonder!

No wonder singers rehearsed for every stage, every venue. It wasn’t just about lights or sound affecting the show—capacity, layout, airflow, all of it shifted the performance. Every gig was unique—

Rehearsals were about owning the show and respecting the crowd.

Eyes shut, the arena’s scale sharpened in his mind. Then an image flickered—a full house, him belting out songs on stage, applause and lights blazing, cheers roaring like he stood atop the world.

That joy swelled in his chest, every muscle itching to scream, every cell soaking in icy Sprite, floating in the endless blue of the Mediterranean. Sunlight and sea crashed into a boundless expanse, melting his body into the blue while his spirit sprouted wings, soaring on the wind, like he owned it all.

“I’d stand on this stage until the end of my life.”

Now, Ronan finally glimpsed the edge of that feeling. An ordinary stage held a quiet, magical pull that set his heart racing. He couldn’t fully grasp it, but it cracked open the door to a whole new world.

Deep breath.

Another.

After a few, his pounding heart settled, though it still thumped hard against his ribs. A dull ache grounded him in reality, and he slowly opened his eyes. There, not far ahead, stood Julio.

Julio was watching him with a warm smile. Only then did Ronan realize he’d zoned out—Julio had been introducing the crew or briefing them on tour details, and he’d missed it all. A flush of embarrassment crept in.

“Sorry,” Ronan said honestly, no excuses, a sheepish grin on his face. Getting awestruck over a venue before even rehearsing? Kind of humiliating.

But Julio waved it off, beaming. “No, no, no need. You know, Bruno once told me about his first time on stage. He said he knew he’d mess up—his hands and feet had no clue where to go, he was that excited. But he wasn’t scared. Even if he’d split his pants mid-stage, he knew he’d fall hard for it.”

He paused, winking at Ronan. “I think anyone who truly loves music and performing feels that way.”

Ronan laughed, scratching his head.

Julio didn’t linger on it. “Ready? We’ve got a lot to do today—this is just the start. You good to kick off rehearsals now?”

(End of Chapter)