"Just a small-town girl, livin' in a lonely world, she took the midnight train, goin' anywhere."
The gentle, clear notes of the piano rang out like crisp spring water, tinkling softly. A bright voice began to hum low, weaving a story from deep within, the lyrics spilling out with a warm hint of a smile. Even the bar's rowdy clamor couldn't drown it out. No visuals were needed—just the sound alone painted the curve of that light, upward tilt of his lips.
Even in solitude, he faced it with calm.
"Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit, he took the midnight train, goin' anywhere."
No frills, no fancy tricks—just a plain, simple delivery. Yet, in the way he shaped the words and rode the melody, you could feel the emotion behind it—resilient and sunny. That quiet trickle of a voice flowed through the bar, and somehow, without anyone noticing, the noise and chaos settled down.
Not silence, but… peace. The restless buzz in the air slowly shed its messy, scattered edge and sank into something calmer. Minds drifted along, tugged by the song without even meaning to listen. Even if they weren't paying close attention, the warmth and strength in that voice still reached them.
There was a raw, honest power in its sincerity. One light, one voice, and a quiet listener—that was enough. The stage, stripped down with no extra polish, hit hard with a primal, untamed force.
Sometimes, the simplest things pack the biggest punch.
Boom! Boom!
Two sharp drumbeats exploded like thunder, shattering the gentle flow. In an instant, they yanked every scattered bit of attention from the bar's corners and snapped it to the stage. All eyes turned, and only then did it click:
The performance had started again.
But… what was happening?
There was no time to figure it out, no space for thoughts to unfold. Ignoring the crowd's shifting mood, the singing pressed on with unwavering resolve, grabbing every ear in the room:
"A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume…"
The "dum-dum-dum" of the keyboard climbed higher, and that gentle voice carried a trace of grit, seasoned by life. The emotion seeped out slowly, each heartfelt word tapping gently at the listeners' hearts. The lyrics mirrored reality, pulling their thoughts down into a slow, sinking drift.
At first, it was just their attention shifting, but now their eyes softened with a dazed glimmer. A tangle of thoughts got swept up in the melody, blurring the lines between real and unreal, present and memory. The tune slipped into their minds, digging up old stories—distant, nearly forgotten things—and a mess of complicated feelings began to swirl.
It started with that figure bathed in stage light. Golden notes built a bridge straight to their souls, stirring something awake.
"…For a smile, they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on."
The melody and voice twisted together, tight like a rope. Piano and drums joined in, climbing step by step to a peak. Then, with a heavy burst of drumbeats scattering like starlight, the song broke wide open—blazing like a sky full of stars, lighting up the whole world.
Ronan snapped his head up, locking his focus. One glance, and you could see him standing center stage, eyes open wide. Those deep, clear eyes sparkled with dazzling light, a faint smile rippling through them. Joy and steadfast happiness poured through his voice, breathtaking and electric.
Boom! Boom-boom!
Thunder and wild wind roared in their ears. For a split second, it felt like standing on an empty street in the dead of night—lost, helpless, fumbling for the North Star. Far off, a guiding voice whispered from deep inside.
"Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard; their shadows searching in the night. Streetlights, people, livin' just to find emotion, hidin' somewhere in the night."
The high notes soared, full throttle, emotions unleashed. The confusion and loneliness of those midnight wanderings, the passion and dreams lost to life—they stirred again in the depths of memory. They'd thought it was all long gone, only to realize it had just been asleep.
Once, they'd chased unfinished dreams with everything they had. Once, they'd danced and sung until dawn. Once, they'd believed their hands could move the world. Once, they'd thought the future was theirs. Once, they'd cried and searched for kindred spirits to fight alongside…
Everyone had a youth that slipped away.
But that was a distant once, buried deep in memory, its edges worn smooth and lost.
And now?
They sat in a smoky bar, steeped in the stench of booze and cheap perfume, drowning themselves in bitter alcohol. Numbing the pain, pretending everything was fine, suffocating in a mediocre, aimless life—forgetting the wild, reckless joy a single smile could spark all night long.
"…Hidin' somewhere in the night." The song climbed to its peak, the high notes light and alive, trembling with excitement and strain. It wasn't steady, not flawless—far from perfect. But that imperfection made the figure under the spotlight feel real, like…
Like every single person there.
Eyes refocused on him, that young guy wrapped in a caramel glow. Shadows softened the lines of his face, but those bright eyes stood out—alive with a youthful spark, a mix of lime and lemon zest cutting through the haze of stale cigarettes, cheap scents, and murky liquor. The air cleared, just like that.
He was belting it out, his strong, steady voice giving every word and note a punch, slamming into their eardrums with a ringing echo.
"Don't stop believin', hold on to that feelin'. Streetlights, people…"
"Workin' hard to get my fill, everybody wants a thrill. Payin' anything to roll the dice, just one more time. Some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues. Oh, the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on and on."
One last time.
One final, all-or-nothing shot—sink the boat, go for broke, bet it all. A bold, blazing gamble, no regrets, no sorrow—just like a summer flower in full bloom, bursting with color, unleashing every ounce of his soul. Burning bright, living loud, no matter the outcome.
The light in those eyes was so sure, so radiant—like a flame flickering in endless dark, wild and fierce. He wanted to seize his life, rule his fate with his own hands, even if just for a fleeting day. He'd burn himself out like a moth to the flame, and it'd be worth it.
He wanted to be his own king—if only for a day.
(End of Chapter)