He said, "Some climb to the top, some crash and burn, and some are born for music."
He sang, "Singing through life's ups and downs, the chapters never stop, chasing dreams without rest, never giving up, not 'til the end."
The passionate, soaring voice surged through the air, wild and free. The bright piano keys wove together with the deep thud of the drums. Sure, it felt a little thin without the strings or harmonies, but that didn't hold it back. If anything, the raw simplicity made it more genuine. That clear, shining sound poured out every ounce of fire and feeling from deep inside, clashing with a force that rang in your ears.
You couldn't help it—your heart swelled, unstoppable. Chin lifting slightly, you found yourself locked on the figure up on stage.
Sam Penn went quiet. No more struggling, no more shouting. He just stood there, letting that pure voice wash over him, his heart growing hot—scorching hot.
"Don't stop believin'! Hold on to that feelin'! Streetlight people, searchin' for some emotion to call home!"
His thoughts churned hard. Sam had long forgotten why he'd opened this bar, why he'd started inviting bands to play. That passion, those dreams—they'd drowned in the endless river of time. He'd told himself it was all about survival.
If the bar couldn't keep going, all those dreams and his life would just be castles in the air. That was true enough. But over time, Sam had gotten too comfortable with that excuse.
The bar had taken root ages ago—no need to worry about making ends meet. Steady customers kept life stable. He could finally support indie bands chasing the dreams he'd had to abandon. But he'd let that slip his mind. As life settled down, all his big ambitions got buried under daily bills and profits.
Even though survival wasn't an issue, he'd brushed off those music dreams with a righteous shrug. "Dreams always end the same way—failure's the only outcome," he'd say. He'd snuffed out every possibility before even trying. He… he'd stopped believing.
But right now, his heart was burning again.
It wasn't about digging up old memories—his muddled brain couldn't sort through the mess anyway. It was that kid up there, radiating something pure. Clear and simple, hot and real. His chest thumped back to life.
Not just beating—pounding.
Thump. Thump.
Real and strong, like it'd finally woken up after a long, long sleep.
Sam stayed put, tucked in the shadows, quietly taking in the performance.
"Strangers waitin', up and down the boulevard; laughin' 'til the night grows old, searchin' for each other's shapes; streetlight people, lookin' for a place to feel somethin', under that heavy night, waitin' for true love to show."
Cliff and Maxim noticed Sam's shift. The frantic pushing stopped, and their eyes followed his to the stage.
Ronan's lips curved into a smile—a real one, straight from the heart. He was lost in the melody, turning the performance into something joyful again. A stage, a voice—that's all he needed. Just him and the music, sharing honest emotion through every note.
It'd been a while since a stage felt like this.
For King For A Day, stuck in the muck, it was a luxury. Scraping by, never sure of the next meal or a roof overhead, life's harshness hit them constantly. Survival threatened their dreams. Irritation, anger, regret, and confusion shattered the rosy glow of their ambitions. Performing got tangled up in too many messy feelings, and music stopped being just music.
But there was Ronan, belting it out with everything he had:
"Don't stop believin'! Hold on to that feelin'! Streetlight people, searchin' for some emotion to call home!"
For a moment, it was like they were back in college. Brought together by a shared love, a fire, a dream to start a band. They'd stay up all night debating music, drive hours to hunt down instruments, argue over arrangements until their faces turned red. Life was simple—pure passion could light up the world.
Without meaning to, Maxim caught Ronan's eyes. That faint smile seemed to hold the whole universe.
King For A Day!
Even if they could only rule for a day, they'd pour every dazzling drop of life into it—that's why the band started. A purpose long forgotten, left in some dusty corner.
Caught off guard, Maxim looked away, flustered. He ducked his head, mumbling something about "sand" and rubbing his eyes hard to hide the sting. Something deep inside, weathered and worn, stirred. Old wounds that hadn't healed ached again.
Cliff, though, refused to admit any softness. His vision blurred, but he kept his eyes wide, staring through the hazy light at Ronan on stage. He hummed along quietly—la, la, lalala—a fire roaring in his chest.
"Don't stop believin'! Hold on to that feelin'! Streetlight people, searchin' for some emotion to call home…"
The melody climbed higher, and Ronan effortlessly pushed his voice up with it. That smooth, full high note lit up the whole bar in an instant.
The crowd didn't leap to their feet—it wasn't a concert, just a bar gig. They didn't know stage etiquette and weren't about to dive in headfirst. But every single one of them stopped what they were doing. No more chatting, no more messing around. They listened, really listened, as the rising tune set their blood on fire.
Boom! Boom!
Boom! Boom!
The piano and drums hit a new peak, emotions bursting wide open. Ronan's hands danced over the keys with fiery passion, veins bulging on his neck and wrists:
"Don't stop believin'! Hold on to that feelin'!"
His voice soared, spanning three octaves in a row. That raw, Everest-high emotion sent goosebumps racing over skin. A shiver shot from toes to scalp, hot blood tightening every muscle. His chest thundered with the sound.
Don't stop.
Hold on.
Simple words, but they crashed down like a tidal wave, echoing through the bar. In his blurry vision, lights bloomed like a fireworks show—vivid, dazzling, overwhelming. But even that couldn't capture the soul-deep jolt.
"Streetlight people, searchin' for some emotion to call home!"
One last time, the feeling surged to the top, then crashed down like a galaxy plunging into the sea. The relentless roar shook the bar to its bones, tremors rippling without end.
(End of Chapter)