Things had veered off course—for the One Day Kings band, and for Scooter too.
Originally, they just wanted to delete a random clip where they'd accidentally appeared, to prove they weren't the kind of people who'd casually show up in someone else's video. But somehow, through twists and turns, they'd stumbled into another mess entirely, ending up with a full recording of their most embarrassing moments laid bare.
Was this what they call shooting themselves in the foot?
Wait a second!
They didn't even know the girl's real name. They had no clue if she was tied to the Full Moon Party or not. Even the whole documentary idea hadn't been confirmed. What if… what if this was all a setup? A trap laid by some insignificant band, deliberately stirring up drama with this footage just to ride his coattails to fame?
A shiver ran down Scooter's spine.
Thinking it over, they really didn't know anything. They'd been completely in the dark, played like fools, and now they were stuck in this mess without even realizing how they got here.
That thought only fueled Scooter's rage. He hadn't been this humiliated since college. His furious shouts came out warped and strained, a far cry from the cool, in-control vibe he usually carried. But once the anger had burned itself out and his lackeys cleared out, leaving the bar quiet again, Scooter pulled himself together. He slipped back into the calm, familiar version of himself he knew best.
If this really was a trap, how could he fix it?
And trap or not, he needed to teach that band a lesson. They had to learn that some people aren't to be messed with so carelessly.
But right now, the most pressing thing was—where was the documentary girl?
…
Alice had sensed something was off early on. The undercurrent of tension wasn't following the path she'd expected. She'd tried to help the band, but it hit her that there was nothing they could do. Scooter held all the cards—he was untouchable, far beyond their reach, let alone their ability to challenge or topple. They were the underdogs here, no question.
What could they even do?
Alice felt a mix of frustration and anger. She was mad at herself for lying. If she'd just told Ronan and the others the full story, they wouldn't have walked into this so unprepared. The gap between their hopes and reality wouldn't have been so brutal, and maybe things would've turned out differently.
But regrets wouldn't help now. They needed a solution—and no matter what, the first step was to keep recording with the camera. That was the priority.
Quietly, Alice shifted her lens. The focus of her footage moved to Scooter and his crew.
Then she caught Ronan's subtle glance. No words were exchanged, and the look was vague, but she got it. Before Scooter could notice, Alice was already silently gearing up to slip away.
In the end, she beat Ronan to the punch, leaving the Old Blacksmith Bar first. She didn't head backstage—instead, she flagged down a taxi and took off.
Alice got to the motel before the band. She went straight to Ronan's room, plopped down on the mattress, and stewed in her own frustration. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd screwed up their big shot. The guilt gnawed at her, and she tried to brainstorm a fix, but her mind was blank. The more she thought, the more irritated she got.
Finally, she flipped on the camera and started reviewing the footage she'd just shot, forcing herself to think, to find a way out.
Bang!
The door flew open with a heavy thud, the sound dripping with pent-up anger and tension. A dark, oppressive vibe stormed in like a thundercloud rolling over a village. The tiny, cramped room was instantly swallowed by the chaotic energy, making it hard to even breathe.
Alice clocked the delicate situation and quietly stood up, stepping aside to give the band space. She tucked herself into a corner, trying not to interfere with whatever was about to go down between them.
Sure enough, they didn't even notice her. Only Ronan shot her a quick look, a flicker of concern in his eyes. Once he saw she was okay, he turned back to the group. A storm was brewing within the band, and it was about to break loose.
It started with Trastan's betrayal and abandonment. The band had hit rock bottom, only to claw back a faint glimmer of hope thanks to Ronan's persistence. But now? It felt more like a last gasp before the fall. They were plummeting into an abyss with no chance to fight back—
And it was darker, more hopeless than it had been three days ago.
Hope's a dangerous thing. It builds you up, makes you dream, only to drop you into an even deeper pit when it shatters.
Without hope, the band might've just accepted their fate—bittersweet, sure, but they could've closed the chapter on their seven years of struggle with some dignity. Instead, it was like a rollercoaster: a fleeting taste of hope, then a full-speed crash to the ground. The pain was unbearable, crushing them over and over, tearing them apart until even their souls felt the madness.
"We're not good enough."
Cliff's voice was taut, like a string about to snap. The emotions he was holding back made his calm tone even more chilling, heavier somehow. Every word carried a crushing weight, pressing down hard. The air vanished, leaving them all in a freefall.
He paced back and forth like a caged animal, muttering the same thing over and over. Then he spun around to face the band, eyes wide with fury, hammering it home. "Get it? We're not good enough! This is it! There's nothing left for us to do!"
"Cliff…" Maxim tried to speak. Ronan chimed in too, "It's not the end of the world…"
But Cliff wasn't having it. "Not the end of the world? It's over! Didn't you hear what they said? We're worthless! Got it? No talent, no skill, no ability—we're nothing. Trash! That's what we are!"
"Cliff!" Ronan raised his voice, cutting off the spiral of self-pity. Ollie was in the corner, looking wrecked, unsure what to do. The torment in his eyes was on the verge of being swallowed by the darkness. They had to stop tearing themselves apart.
Cliff's voice shot up another octave, yelling back at Ronan. "What! I get what's happening here—it's you guys who won't face reality! Don't yell at me! You don't get to yell at me! I'm thinking! Okay? I'm trying to figure out where we really stand right now!"
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