Inside the tour bus, the atmosphere was heavy. Bill, who had just declared there was a serious issue, paused mid-step as he noticed the weight in the room. Everyone seemed down, drained, as if the air itself had thickened. He glanced first at Ethan, who was staring at him with wide, steady eyes, waiting, unflinching. Then Bill shifted his gaze to Jessica, whose face was set in concern. "Leave that for now," she said gently. "What's wrong? What did they say?"
Bill's eyes flicked around the bus again, unsure if he should bring up the news now. The tension made his chest tighten. Just as he was about to speak, Ethan's calm voice cut through the quiet. "Bill… what happened?"
Hearing Ethan, Bill exhaled slowly. He leaned back against a seat and ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture of a man wrestling with difficult news. "Well," he began carefully, trying to ease the weight in the room, "good news and bad news… which do you want first?"
His attempt at levity landed flat. Neither Ethan nor Jessica so much as smiled, their expressions tense, sharp, expectant. Bill let out a low, rueful sigh and rubbed his forehead. "I guess… it isn't the time," he muttered to himself. That knack he always had—trying to inject a joke into tense moments—wasn't working now.
He straightened slightly, shoulders stiffening, and continued. "Well… here it goes. The bad news first." He took a slow breath, as if bracing himself for the impact. "Changpeng Zhao… he's been found guilty—fraud, money laundering, some major financial misreporting. There's even an active warrant out for his arrest."
Jessica's hand went to her forehead as she muttered, "Shit shit okay okay, don't let us panic Maybe… maybe it's all overblown? How credible is this? Can't we do something? Have you contacted him yet?"
Bill shook his head, his expression grim. "No. He hasn't been contacted. And frankly… it's the FBI now. They're involved. That's why i felt it best we stay completely clear of him—no calls, no messages, nothing—while he's under investigation."
Jessica rubbed her eyes, letting out a small, weary sigh. "Yeah… that's probably for the best," she said, finally. Bill nodded, relieved she understood the gravity.
Ethan, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm, measured, cutting through the tension. "So… what's the good news?"
Both Bill and Jessica froze. Pardon? Jessica's eyes narrowed, incredulous. Despite their years of experience and the weight of the industry on their shoulders, it was Ethan—calm, collected, unexpectedly steady—who had somehow managed to shift the mood with a single question.
"You said earlier that there was good news and bad news, right? I just wanted to know… what the good news is," Ethan asked, his voice calm but curious, his eyes steady on Bill.
Bill, caught slightly off guard by the directness, let out a low, contemplative "Ooo… okay," before leaning back in his seat. He ran a hand through his hair, then focused fully on Ethan, ready to break down the situation in a way that wouldn't alarm anyone further.
"Well," Bill began, "the good news—first off, we received our full payment upfront before all this happened. So financially, apart from having the payments in hand, there's really no trail connecting us during the time the news broke out. No one can point a finger at you, Ethan, not directly. And even better…" he paused, letting the words sink in, "…the investigation is squarely focused on Binance's core business, not the NFT drops. The NFTs themselves, the components, the assets, all of that—there's little to no news connecting you to any wrongdoing. You're essentially clean."
Ethan's lips pressed into a thin line as he absorbed the information, nodding slowly. Beside him, Jessica's face showed cautious relief, her eyes reflecting the slight lift in tension.
Bill continued, his voice taking on a slightly urgent edge as he leaned forward. "Honestly… I expect news to break soon. The sharks in the industry, the press—they'll smell blood in the water. It's only a matter of time. That means we need to get ahead of this. We'll need a statement, maybe post about cutting ties publicly. Confirm with Mark that all NFT promotions and references to Binance are removed. We also need to reach out to fans who already bought in—maybe organize a meet-and-greet with the fan club after your concert tomorrow. That way, they hear the story from us directly and not through rumors.
"Oh, and another idea—Rebecca can help us organize a small incentive, maybe a one million dollar cash prize giveaway or some other gesture that covers everything else. Keeps the fans happy, shows transparency, and keeps things calm."
Ethan's eyes stayed locked on Bill, taking in every word, processing the logistics and the reassurance all at once. Jessica nodded along, adding weight to every suggestion, confirming that these measures made sense.
Bill finally looked at Jessica directly, his tone brisk but commanding. "Where is Rebecca? We need to plan, get one step ahead of this."
Jessica tilted her head slightly, her expression measured but firm. "Rebecca's still a little busy, Bill. And… we need to talk about the show."
Bill's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of concern breaking through his professional composure. "What happened?"
Bill who remembered the heavy mode the room was in before sighed one giant sigh as his voice lowered slightly as he asked, "The doctor… what did he say?"
...
"So that's what happened. The doctor has advised Ethan to stay off using his vocal cords," Jessica said, her tone calm but weighted, as Bill's expression immediately shifted.
"Fuck… fuck!" Bill muttered under his breath, the tension finally breaking free. "No wonder he was quiet!"
Ethan opened his mouth to respond, a hint of protest in his voice. "That's not why I just—"
Bill cut him off immediately, his large hand resting reassuringly on Ethan's shoulder. "Don't worry, Ethan," he said, a warm, calming smile spreading across his face. "This… all of this, it's going to be okay. You don't need to do the show again. Not now. Not like this."
Ethan hesitated, the words barely leaving his lips. "But what about—"
Bill gently silenced him again, tightening his hand on Ethan's shoulder, eyes locking with his. "No buts. You've tried. You've given everything, every single night, every show, every note. Now it's our turn. You leave the rest to us. Your only job… your only job is to rest. You rest, recover, and let us handle the chaos out there. Let me work for that ten percent."
Ethan's shoulders slumped slightly, a mixture of relief and frustration washing over him, but Bill's calm confidence and unwavering support made the weight a little lighter.
"Don't worry. Trust us." Bill's words echoed in Ethan's mind as he stared out the window of the tour bus. The light had dimmed considerably, though he hadn't even noticed. 'When did it get dark?' he wondered, blinking slowly as the world outside seemed distant, surreal.
...
Meanwhile, Bill had wasted no time. He'd immediately mobilized the entire team, directing them to enforce Ethan's complete rest. Rebecca had been the first to respond, followed by the rest of the staff, each moving methodically to execute the plan.
The task at hand was staggering: the immediate cancellation of one of a kind tour dates.
Even with only three shows left, the logistics were mind-boggling. Refunds had to be coordinated for thousands of ticket holders, contracts renegotiated, transportation and lodging adjustments made, and all of it had to be communicated in a way that preserved Ethan's reputation. The Binance scandal layered another level of complexity; spinning the situation without causing backlash was an almost impossible task.
Ethan remained seated, quietly observing the controlled chaos around him. Unlike what Bill might have assumed, Ethan's silence wasn't rooted in fear of straining his vocal cords. He understood the magnitude of the issues—the vocal strain, the Binance fallout, the looming tour cancellations—but strangely, it felt unreal. Detached. Like watching someone else's life unfold on a screen.
'It's happening to me… but not really me,' he thought. His body sometimes felt out of sync with reality, particularly during interviews or interactions. He spoke, nodded, laughed, all while internally floating outside his own experience, observing the motions as though they belonged to another person entirely. It was like watching a movie, or following a script he wasn't quite part of.
The strange dissonance between the chaos around him and the calm detachment inside him made the moment surreal, almost dreamlike, as if he were a spectator in his own life rather than living it.
Numb.
Yes. Numb.
"What's happening…" Ethan thought, his gaze drifting over the scene outside the bus window. Rows of tour buses lined the parking area, tents fluttered in the gentle breeze, and security personnel moved methodically, a quiet hum of order in the background. Despite all the activity, the scene felt distant, unreal, as if he were observing it through a fogged lens. He let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound barely audible over the faint murmur of the staff moving about.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, scrolling quickly through his contacts without hesitation. He didn't need to pause—there was only one person he wanted right now. Sydney. The name flashed on the screen, and without a second thought, he tapped it, placing the phone to his ear as he began walking down the side of the bus, his steps slow but purposeful.
Not long after, he heard the familiar click of the call being answered. A smile tugged at his lips, brief and fragile. "Oo, Sydney! Thank goodness. I really need to talk to you—there's this thing and it's really…"
Suddenly, another voice cut through the line. "Ethan! Ethan! Ethan!"
Ethan froze, a frown knitting his brow. The voice was unfamiliar, crisp, and insistent. He pulled the phone slightly away, squinting at the screen. Confused, he checked the contact—it still said "ThatOne," the name he used to save Sydney. His heart skipped a beat. Putting the phone back to his ear, he said cautiously, "Hello? Hello, is this Sydney, please?"
The voice replied again, calm and professional. "This is Ethan Jones, right?"
Ethan blinked, taken aback. The voice wasn't Sydney's—he hadn't expected a stranger to answer for her. He double-checked the contact one more time before exhaling, steadying himself, and placing the phone firmly back to his ear. "Hello… yes, this is Ethan. May I ask who this is? And… where is Sydney, please?"
"Hello, Ethan. This is Jennifer Millar. I'm Sydney's representative agent," the woman said, her tone polite but efficient.
"Oo, and Sydney?" Ethan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Jennifer's voice softened slightly. "Oo, Sydney is shooting a scene right now, so she can't come to the phone."
Ethan let out a quiet, understanding sigh. "Oo… okay."
Jennifer continued, "I can leave a note for you if you want."
Ethan waved the thought off, his voice gentle. "Oo, it's okay. Seriously, it's fine."
Jennifer responded warmly, "When she's done, I'll tell her you called."
"No, it's all okay. Seriously. Happy shoot," Ethan said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, feeling the tension in his chest ease just a fraction.
"Okay then. Bye," Jennifer said.
"Bye-bye," Ethan replied, his tone soft, carrying a rare moment of calm in the midst of everything.
Ethan slipped the phone from his ear and let out a long, slow sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders. He scrolled past his recent calls, not even thinking about where he was going or what he was doing. His fingers idly tapped the screen, then moved to his comments, scrolling without purpose. He wasn't even sure why he was here outside, away from the bus, away from his team. Right now, he should have been inside, talking with Bill, Jessica, and the rest, making plans, coordinating the impossible—the end of the concert and the careful handling of the fallout.
He shook his head, muttering softly under his breath, "What are you doing?" The words were half scolding, half bewildered at himself. He turned, intending to head back toward the bus, to rejoin the team and return to some semblance of control.
Taking a few hesitant steps back, he was startled by the sharp ring of his phone. His heart skipped a beat. He stopped in place, eyes darting to the screen. The name flashing made his stomach tighten even more.
With a deep breath, he picked it up and pressed it to his ear. A small, unconscious smile appeared on his lips, softening his tense features. "Mom."
It was his mom.
"Hey, baby. How are you?" Her voice came through, warm and familiar, wrapping around him like a soft blanket. Something unidentifiable stirred in him, a flutter of relief and comfort that he hadn't realized he needed.
"I'm… good, Mom. Wait, what time is it over there?" Ethan asked, his tone light, careful, as if trying to hide how exhausted he truly felt.
"It's early morning, but that's beside the point. How are you, dear? Bill said I should call you—is everything okay?" Her words carried concern, gentle yet probing.
Ethan smiled to himself, thinking about Bill, a pang of gratitude forming deep in his chest for having such a steady presence in his life. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "I'm fine, Mom. Really. Don't worry about me."
"Are you sure?" Her voice was soft, like she could sense the unspoken weight beneath his words.
"Yes," he said, and in that moment, just hearing her voice, everything felt… okay. It grounded him. For the first time in hours, he felt a fragment of normalcy, a sliver of calm.
Quickly, he shifted the conversation, eager to give her something lighter, something joyful. "How's New Zealand?"
"Oh, Ethan…" Her tone lifted, exuberant, and he could hear her smile even over the line. "It's incredible! Honestly, it's the most beautiful country I've ever been to! The mountains, the coastline, the rivers—they're like something out of a painting. I've never seen anything like it in my life."
Earlier this month, Ethan had spoken to his father about finally taking his mom on the exotic trips he'd promised her for years. His father had initially refused, citing work and logistics, but Ethan had been relentless. He'd called his dad's office, negotiated paid leave for his mom for a few months, in exchange for Ethan attending a few work dinners himself. With no other choice or excuse, his dad had relented.
Then Ethan had turned to Bill, finding an exclusive luxury travel agency capable of fulfilling the trip. He'd spent close to half a million dollars, making sure every detail was perfect, every stay lavish, every moment unforgettable. Listening to his mother gush, hearing the delight in her voice, Ethan felt a warmth surge through him. He knew in that moment it had been worth every single penny.
Ethan couldn't hold it in anymore; laughter spilled out of him."It's a lie!" he said between laughs, shaking his head.
His mom's voice came through the phone, light and teasing."I'm telling you! He was even the only one who went parasailing alone. I had to stay with the instructor! I always told you guys your dad was adventurous back in his youth—you all just don't believe me."
Ethan was still laughing. "I still don't believe you, Mom."
"It's the same thing your sister said," she replied, chuckling softly.
"Oh, that's true!" Ethan said, leaning back on his chair. "Precious—I talked to her, what, day before yesterday? Apparently it's exam time."
"I just hope she's okay," his mom said, her tone suddenly softer. "Maybe we should cut the trip short."
"Mom, Mom, Mom—stop, stop," Ethan said quickly, still smiling. "Enjoy your trip. Don't worry about Precious. She's smart, I'm sure she'll do okay. And even if you come, it's not like you can help her write her exams."
Then came her voice again—but softer this time, carrying that motherly weight that always quieted him."Precious isn't my only child."
Ethan froze a little. That sentence sank right through him. He didn't say anything for a second, just stared ahead—then smiled faintly."I'm fine, Mom," he said quietly. "Believe in your kids and if you don't Believe in yourself your ability to raise us well."
"Baby, you know—" she began, but before she could finish, a voice boomed from the background.
"Honey, be fast! The bungee jump instructor is around—come choose your rope!"
Ethan could almost picture his dad shouting from across the resort. He heard his mom yell back, half laughing, "I'm coming! I'm talking to your son here!"
Then his dad's voice again, playful and loud, "Oh, Ethan? Help me greet him! And don't waste time—let's quickly go, he said now's the best altitude and time to do this thing!"
Ethan burst out laughing. "Wait—is that Dad? And are you guys going bungee jumping?"
"I told you your father is adventurous," his mom replied, trying not to laugh herself.
"Honey, be fast!" came the voice again from the background.
"I told you already, I'm coming!" she shouted back, her voice fading slightly.
Ethan laughed even harder. "Mom, go answer him," he said between chuckles. "They probably need you. byeee."
"But I wanted to tell you—" she began.
"I know, Mom," Ethan said, cutting in gently. "And I appreciate it. I want you to know your kids are fine. I mean, why wouldn't we be? We had the strongest woman raising us."
There was a brief pause. Then her voice came softly through the line, warm and trembling with love."I love you, Ethan."
"I love you too, Mom," he replied quickly, smiling.
Then, just before the call ended, he heard his dad's voice again, half shouting, half laughing his moms reply fast and brutal, "It's like you want to go without the rope, ehn? Just shout at me one more time!"
Ethan burst out laughing as the call cut off. He kept laughing, louder and louder, the sound echoing faintly in the air.
When he finally stopped, he looked straight ahead. He didn't even notice when, but a small group of friends had gathered near the barricade, waving their hands and calling out to him. He waved back, smiling faintly.
His mom's call had helped him clarify something—something that had been floating above him for days. Now, finally, it felt like he could touch the grass again.
He wasn't sure if what he'd decide next would be the best choice—but he knew it would be his decision.And he'd be okay with that.
...
The backstage area was a frenzy of movement, wires snaking across the floor, technicians shouting last-minute instructions, and the faint scent of smoke and pyrotechnics hanging in the air. The low hum of the crowd outside buzzed through the walls, an anxious energy that seeped into every corner. Lights dimmed in the main arena as the announcer's voice crackled over the intercom: "Ladies and gentlemen, dim your lights, get ready—your main act is about to take the stage!"
Ethan stood near the edge of the backstage area, wisdom adjusting something on his shirt with meticulous hands. His gaze darted across the floor, checking every detail, every fold, every crease, every little movement. Mark approached quickly, urgency in his step."You're on in one minute," he said firmly. "Start moving to the stage."
Wisdom gave a small nod. "Perfect," he murmured, his focus unwavering.
Bill emerged from the chaos, stepping into view, holding Ethan's gaze with a mix of concern and authority."Ethan," he said, his voice low but commanding, "are you sure? If you have even a single doubt, tell me. I don't care—just say the word, and I'll shut this down."
Rebecca, standing nearby, frowned. "Isn't that too late?" she asked, her voice tight with worry.
Bill ignored her, eyes locked on Ethan. "Just say the word," he repeated, his tone softer now, but still insistent.
Ethan let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Thanks, Bill. Really. But I'm good. I decided—I'm going to live it through. Don't worry."
Bill exhaled slowly, a hint of relief in his expression. "Okay then. Just…if you feel anything, end it. No matter what. We'll handle the rest."
Ethan didn't respond verbally. He simply placed a hand on Bill's shoulder in a silent gesture of reassurance.
Mark returned, a subtle urgency in his step. "Ethan, the stand is ready. Just stand on it. When you feel it move, count eight seconds, then jump—you'll appear on stage."
"Oo, thanks," Ethan said quietly, already moving toward the small launch pad.
Dough came rushing toward him, breathless. "Ethan! Where were you?"
"Me and Jessica went to meet the doctor," Dough said, holding out a small package of pills. "The doctor said you should be careful. Jessica's with the others But take this. He said while this won't fix everything, it should help with the immediate scratchiness. Don't speak unless you have to, and after the show he said to use hot water. That's it."
Ethan nodded, taking the pills with a small smile. "Thanks, Dough."
He stepped onto the small patch embedded in the ground, feeling the cold metal beneath his feet, the vibrations of the stage just beyond. Mark crouched slightly, yelling over the din, "Now, Ethan!"
Ethan positioned himself, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes. He slipped his earpiece into his ear, the faint click grounding him. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this, he repeated silently, a mantra against the storm of nerves and anticipation swelling around him.
He popped the pills into his mouth, feeling them dissolve almost instantly, a calming fizzy effect spreading through his throat. He could sense the stand beginning to move, a subtle hum of mechanics and tension beneath him.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight.
Before he could even finish the thought, he jumped. A subtle launch propelled him upward. The world seemed to blur around him for a fraction of a second before he landed on the stage. The arena was still mostly dark, the crowd a shadowed mass, but a single spotlight hit him, cutting through the haze, making him the center of every eye and every heartbeat in the room.
Ethan didn't waste a moment. He let the energy flow through him, his voice cutting through the quiet of anticipation as he screamed,"Welcome New Hamspireeeeee! Are you ready Tonigttttt!"