A figure appeared at the end of the hallway, but it wasn't the expected Scooter. From a distance, they could see Kathy walking toward them. Clearly, she was the singer who'd met with Scooter just before One Day Kings—and it seemed Scooter wasn't limiting his meetings to just two acts today.
After the rollercoaster of a long night, Kathy looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her skin was dry, and her makeup had started to smear, giving her a slightly disheveled, worn-out look. But her heavy steps didn't weigh down her straight shoulders or strong spine. Her bright eyes still sparkled with excitement.
Looked like good news!
Did that mean One Day Kings' chances were shooting up too? If Scooter was genuinely here to scout talent, he'd likely cast a wide net, not wanting to miss a thing. With Kathy paving the way, maybe their opportunity was shining brighter too.
Kathy kept it low-key, though—no big celebration or showboating. She just gave the band a subtle fist pump of encouragement. "Hurry up and head inside. Scooter's waiting in the bar."
For people in power, there's one thing they all share: they hate it when others are late. It's a challenge to their authority they won't tolerate.
Then Kathy turned to Ronan, her gaze focused and sincere. "Tonight's performance was incredible. You deserve this. Good luck!"
It was her honest opinion. She thought One Day Kings had delivered an outstanding show—better than hers, even—and they absolutely deserved recognition. She was confident Scooter would see their potential too.
But now wasn't the time for a deep chat. With a quick glance, she stepped aside, letting the band take the stage.
Ronan flashed Kathy a smile before following his bandmates back into the Old Blacksmith Bar. This time, they weren't heading for the stage but straight into the venue. In the empty space, they could spot Scooter and his crew chatting and laughing in the middle of the room.
At the center, surrounded like the star of the show, was none other than Scott "Scooter" Braun—the man of the hour.
Scooter looked young up close. His simple white T-shirt and jeans didn't scream corporate boss or Wall Street pro, nor did he carry the greasy vibe of a middle-aged guy. Instead, he radiated an approachable energy and enthusiasm. His neatly trimmed beard showed he cared about his image, and even after a night of partying, he still looked put-together.
From the way everyone fanned out around him in a loose arc and his relaxed, arms-wide-open posture, it was clear: Scooter might seem friendly and laid-back, but he was the one steering the room's vibe and flow.
As One Day Kings stepped in, Scooter's peripheral vision had already sized them up mid-conversation. Nothing escaped his notice—his ability to keep tabs on everything and everyone was impressive all on its own.
When the band appeared, the ongoing chatter paused for a quarter of a beat. Scooter's crew glanced at him, saw he hadn't shifted his focus, and carried on talking. That tiny detail said a lot.
Ronan had a knack for picking up on subtle things. When his eyes couldn't catch everything, he'd learned to observe and interpret with his heart—and that let him see even more.
Scooter didn't say hi, but Ronan wasn't in a rush either. He glanced over at Alice, who was filming off to the side.
She was doing her job diligently, no question—making the documentary was her top priority. But the slight flicker in her eyes betrayed that her attention had drifted just a bit.
"Hey! Morning, everyone!" Cliff jumped in with a burst of energy, flashing a big grin that hid any trace of the nerves he'd been wrestling with earlier. "So, ladies and gentlemen, how's it going? Did you feel the Full Moon Party vibe? Enjoy yourselves tonight?"
His eyes flicked back to Scooter.
Scooter turned his head, scanning all four band members before settling on Cliff. He didn't say a word.
A tall, lanky Black guy standing next to Scooter spoke up instead. He had a slightly curly beard and short, wiry hair like a steel wool ball. Hard to pin down his age—maybe around thirty? No flashy gold chains like some nouveau riche type, just a simple gold watch.
"The party's been a blast, you know, bro. Carnival's all about letting loose. Music and booze—that's all you need."
What did that mean? Just small talk, or was there a hint in there?
Cliff glanced at the guy, his eyes lingering on Scooter for a split second before darting back. His expression grew a little eager. "So, did you like our set? What'd you think?" With no one taking the lead, Cliff had to push forward, and the vibe was getting weird.
Ronan and the others could feel it too. The tension crept in.
The gold-watch guy didn't answer right away. He looked at Scooter, saw he still wasn't talking, and then said, "You guys did good. Really fit the Full Moon Party vibe. We all enjoyed it."
Total boilerplate. Nothing worth digging into.
Cliff's face twitched slightly. He turned to his bandmates, and Ronan tried to stop him—they could switch up their approach. Scooter clearly wasn't ready to talk, and pushing too hard might just lead to a crash and burn.
But Ronan wasn't sure how to handle this either—he'd never been in a situation like this. His reaction was a beat too slow, and before he could say anything, Cliff had already turned back, words spilling out with a mix of urgency and frustration.
"I want the real answer. No need to beat around the bush—we're not kids here." Cliff forced a smile, trying to play it cool and casual, but his tight voice gave away too much. "Just tell us what you actually think."
"You sure you want to know?" Scooter finally spoke, leaning forward slightly. A sly grin curled his lips, like a hunter setting a trap. The simple words carried a dangerous edge, thanks to his tone and piercing gaze.
Cliff picked up on the shift. His gut was screaming warnings, but under Scooter's intense stare, there was nowhere to back off to.