The silence before the music felt heavier than the lights beating down on him.
Henry stood dead center on the stage, the microphone clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were drained of color. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, and for a brief terrifying moment, he couldn't tell whether the sound thundering in his ears was the blood rushing through his head or his own heartbeat threatening to burst free.
The crowd waited.
Three judges stared at him expectantly.
Cameras on black mechanical arms adjusted their angles with sharp, metallic whirs. Red recording lights blinked in his direction like unblinking eyes. Somewhere in the rafters, a stage light buzzed faintly, adding a faint vibration to the charged air.
Henry inhaled—slow, deliberate. His throat was dry as sandpaper, but he forced himself to swallow.
And then—
Boom, ts-ts, boom, ts-ts.
A crisp, bouncy pop beat erupted from the theater's speakers, a retro kick layered with clapping snares. It wasn't overwhelming, but sharp and clear, cutting into the silence like sunlight piercing a storm cloud. The rhythm was playful, energetic, almost cheeky.
Heads in the audience lifted immediately. A murmur swept through the sea of faces.
This isn't a ballad.
What is this beat?
Most contestants had come armed with acoustic guitars, heartfelt ballads, or dramatic renditions of chart toppers. But Henry's choice opened with a pulse that demanded attention—catchy from the very first second.
Henry's lips parted, and without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he let the words flow.
We're no strangers to love,
You know the rules, and so do I🎶
His voice carried smoothly over the rhythm, a surprising richness filling the cavernous space. A ripple passed through the crowd; people straightened in their seats. The opening line, with its playful sincerity, caught them off guard.
"A full commitment's what I'm thinking of,
You wouldn't get this from any other guy🎵
The melody was infectious, almost mischievous. Henry swayed slightly to the beat, letting his shoulders loosen. A part of him was still screaming inside—Don't screw this up, don't screw this up—but another part of him, the one that remembered late nights of singing alone in the showers just like the readers, recognized this for what it was. A stage. His stage and once that realization hit, the fear began to melt.
"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling,
Gotta make you understand🎶
The beat jumped, and Henry's voice rose with it, clear and strong.
"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down,
Never gonna run around and desert you…"
The first chorus dropped.
And with it—the audience's mood shifted.He even managed to break the fourth wall but for now Henry didn't know and probably won't ever know.
Henry rode the rhythm, body loosening, voice gaining confidence with each repetition. The mic stand became less of a crutch and more of an extension of his performance.
"Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye,
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you…"
The moment the music started, every lingering doubt vanished without a trace.
The awkwardness of performing an unfamiliar song, the fear of making a fool of himself, and the nervousness of standing before thousands of eyes—all of it disappeared. Henry became completely absorbed in the performance, losing himself in the rhythm as if nothing else in the world existed.
His body moved naturally with the beat, every note flowing effortlessly from his lips. It was as though he had forgotten there was an audience watching him. The stage no longer felt intimidating; instead, it felt strangely familiar, almost like it had always been where he belonged.
For those few minutes, Henry let himself go completely. Every gesture, every step, every lyric came instinctively, as though he had been born to command the spotlight. The anxiety that had nearly tied his stomach into knots before the performance seemed laughable now. He wasn't forcing himself to perform anymore—he was simply enjoying it.
Ironically, Henry himself didn't realize it, but the moment he stopped overthinking and surrendered to the music was the moment he looked every bit like a natural-born star.
The beat pulsed, his voice carried, and the lyrics rolled off his tongue like they had been carved into his bones.When the final line echoed—
"Never gonna tell a lie… and hurt you…"
—he let the last note hang in the air before lowering the mic, chest rising and falling. He bowed deeply, the sweat glistening at his temple catching the glare of the stage lights.[add how he felt this was one of his best performances although it was his first time he gave it his all and now fate awaited.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Smile fixed on his lips.
Waiting.
But the audience… was silent.
No cheers. No boos. No reaction at all.
His smile twitched. His heart plummeted.
Did they hate it? Did they not understand it?
A cold rush of panic swept through him, making his stomach twist. This was worse than being booed. At least boos meant people felt something. This silence—this void—was unbearable.
Damn it this is so embarrassing.
It's over. I blew it. This is how it ends?
"( ˶°ㅁ°) !!"
A storm of thoughts flooded Henry's mind.
Did I just embarrass myself in front of everyone?
Why did I say the song was written for someone special?
They're definitely laughing at me.
This has to be the shortest music career in history...
His imagination spiraled further with each passing second, conjuring one disastrous outcome after another. The silence felt suffocating, stretching so long that it seemed like an eternity.
Then—
Clap.
Clap.
Clap!
The sound snapped Henry out of his thoughts.
The sound came from somewhere near the back—one person clapping. Sharp, insistent.
Another joined. Then another.
Like a spark catching dry grass, the applause spread until suddenly the entire hall was clapping, the sound swelling into cheers. A few whistles cut through the noise. Several people raised their phones, capturing the moment on shaky cameras.
Not everyone, though. The judges sat unmoved.
Jessica, radiant in her gown, maintained her dazzling smile, one hand resting under her chin. Levinson leaned back in his chair, unreadable. Jones simply adjusted his glasses, his eyes sharp as ever.
But the crowd—they were alive.
Henry exhaled shakily, relief flooding his system.
Thank goodness...
If the audience had just stared at him in complete silence, that would've been one of the most awkward moments imaginable.
It would've been like that infamous time Andy Kaufman walked onto a comedy stage and started reading The Great Gatsby instead of telling jokes, leaving the audience wondering what on earth they were supposed to do. At least these people were clapping.
That was way too close...
Only now did Henry realize he'd been holding his breath the entire time.
"Ding… Emotional +100."
"Ding… Emotional +100."
"Ding… Emotional +100."
The system notifications kept flickered across his vision like confetti.
"Thank you," Henry said, bowing again, his voice cracking slightly under the flood of adrenaline.
The applause rumbled on.
Jessica leaned forward, her smile radiant as the applause faded. "Henry—that was one hell of a performance. Do you guys agree?" She turned to the audience.
"Yes!"
"Absolutely!"
"That was amazing!"
The audience erupted in fresh cheers, a wave of sound that made Henry's chest ache with something dangerously close to joy.
Jessica let the noise settle before gesturing gracefully toward her fellow judge. "Levinson? Care to comment?"
Levinson lifted his mic slowly, pausing long enough to make the anticipation almost unbearable. Then he gave Henry a small, almost fatherly smile.
"I was completely mesmerized," Levinson said. "Your stage presence is magnetic, and it feels so natural. The moment that beat dropped, I thought—finally, something different. You brought me back to the golden era of pop, the 80s vibe that made us feel music, not just hear it. And you have the rare ability to elevate what could be considered basic material into something unforgettable."
He leaned back, nodding. "If that song were to be released tomorrow, I'd say it could easily chart in the top twenty."
The crowd clapped again.
Henry dipped his head politely. "Thank you." He tried to keep his voice humble, but inside, his thoughts were a storm.
Top twenty? Please.
Back on Earth, this song had topped the charts in twenty-five countries, including the United States and the United Kingdom. It wasn't just a number-one hit—it became a cultural phenomenon that refused to fade, spreading across generations like a virus.
Henry couldn't help but remember his parents. His father had once laughed while telling him how this very song helped him win his mother's heart back in the day. Whenever it played, his dad would proudly claim, "See? This is the song that made your mother fall for me."
His mother always rolled her eyes and insisted that wasn't how it happened.
His father never believed her.
Even years later, the two of them would still bicker over the story, turning it into one of those small family memories Henry never thought he'd miss.
Top twenty is an insult. This song is destined for number one. HeCan't wait to see #henryroll in a few years.
But out loud, he said with shameless modesty, "Top twenty? That would already be difficult to achieve. I can only hope people connect with it."
Levinson chuckled, shaking his head. "No need to be too humble. My intuition's never wrong. Trust me—this song has weight. Accept the praise."
Henry bowed again. "Then I'll gladly accept it.Thank you."
Jones, however, refrained from speaking. He merely nodded once, eyes narrowing slightly as though cataloguing Henry in some mental file.
Henry glanced at him and sighed inwardly. Bro, you're like sixty—stop farming aura like some mysterious sage. Say something at least.
Jessica clapped her hands softly, drawing everyone's attention back to her.
"Henry, I'm sure everyone here is curious." A playful smile tugged at her lips. "Who is the girl you wrote this song for? If you don't mind sharing... could you tell us her name?"
The audience leaned forward almost in unison.
They loved gossip.
More importantly, they loved romance.
Henry's mind raced.
Yeah... I can't exactly say it was Anne from RockMedia—the innocent, pure, absolutely angelic Miss Anne. The sarcasm in his thoughts was so thick it could've been spread on toast.
Besides, naming her was out of the question. Peter was probably watching this broadcast somewhere, and the last thing Henry wanted was to get sued into oblivion for dragging Anne into a fabricated love story.
So he smiled faintly, his eyes softening as though he were reminiscing about someone precious.
"I'm sorry," Henry said gently. "I can't tell you her name."
A collective gasp swept through the audience.
Their imaginations immediately ran wild.
He can't say her name?
Is it a forbidden relationship?
Did her family oppose them?
Is she already engaged to someone else?
Maybe she's a celebrity!
Even Jessica's expression softened. She gave Henry an understanding smile and nodded lightly.
"I understand," she said warmly. "Some people are simply too important to be dragged into the public eye. Thank you for sharing even this much with us."
Henry lowered his head, hiding the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
...If only you knew.
Well, Anne... I guess you're useful for something after all.