"…Because you guys deserve it."
That line sounded familiar.
Ronan instantly felt Ollie's excited gaze boring into him, those slightly shimmering eyes practically shouting: See? I told you so!
But Ollie seemed even more worked up than Ronan. His eyes were already reddening, on the verge of tears again. It eased Ronan's awkward tension, melting away his usual fluster. His mood lightened up a bit.
"Thanks," Ronan said. It wasn't easy, but the words came out. He was slowly learning to take compliments—not a simple task, but a start. After that short phrase, a smile tugged at his lips, a genuine wave of joy bubbling up inside.
Aaron picked up on the cautious edge in Ronan's voice, the humble restraint. It wasn't the brash, untamed vibe you'd expect from an indie band, let alone the stubborn streak of a rock group. His gaze lingered on Ronan, a flicker of concern in his eyes.
That one look went beyond the casual care of a first meeting—it felt like the warmth of an old friend. Ronan was a little thrown off.
Aaron didn't explain, though. Noticing Ronan's curious glance, he just chuckled and moved on. "I came to the green room today with a specific purpose, so don't peg me as the nice guy here. Do you guys have a manager yet? If not, I'd love to step in."
A manager?
Ronan shot a look at Cliff and Maxim. The topic was a sore spot. Trastan was ancient history, but they'd avoided the manager conversation ever since. They'd gone months without one, and now, having it brought up out of nowhere felt like picking at a healed scar.
Cliff gave Ronan a subtle headshake, a warning. But, worried Ronan or Ollie might jump the gun and derail things, he quickly opened his mouth. "Yeah, we've already got a manager."
What?
Wasn't that a straight-up lie?
Ronan's glance at Cliff was about figuring out how to handle this, not slapping together some nonsense. He'd told John over the phone that the lack of a manager was exactly why the opening gig got so messy. And now, suddenly, they had one?
Plus, John was right there—wouldn't this fall apart in seconds?
And Aaron showing interest in the band? Whether they'd take him on or work together was worth discussing, but Cliff cutting it off so rashly—what was that about? Was he paranoid Aaron had some ulterior motive? What was going through his head?
Ronan didn't get it.
At all!
The words barely left Cliff's mouth before John's eyes flicked to Ronan, a hint of confusion in them. But seeing the blank look in Ronan's eyes settled him—Ronan's honesty shone through. John didn't call it out, though, just shifted his gaze quietly to Cliff.
Cliff might not have clocked the contradiction, but he doubled down. "Alice. Alice is our manager and tour coordinator."
Alice, standing nearby with the camera, was all question marks—Me?
Aaron didn't seem too shocked, though. Either John hadn't filled him in, or his visit was a spur-of-the-moment thing John wasn't clued into. "Oh," Aaron said with a sigh. "That's a shame, but I guess it doesn't change much."
He brushed it off, turning to Alice with ease. Spotting the bulky camera, he grinned. "So, you edit all that footage too? That's some serious multitasking—tough gig. But this band's got limitless potential."
Alice was still in the dark, but confronting Cliff in front of John and Aaron wasn't an option. She forced a smile, playing along.
John, silent this whole time, let his gaze settle on Cliff with a thoughtful, knowing look, like he'd pieced something together.
"Sorry, I know you've got your own plans for the band, but mind if I toss out some advice?" Aaron's face held a gentle smile.
He wasn't exactly handsome—his square jaw and rough edges could easily come off as intimidating—but that constant smile and slow, steady way of talking disarmed people, making them want to listen.
Especially since Alice knew zilch about managing. "Of course!" she jumped at the chance, slipping into her one-day manager role.
"From what I know, you guys haven't hit the studio yet, right?" Aaron asked kindly, no judgment or sarcasm in his tone. Then he cracked a joke. "I tried downloading your stuff earlier, but I couldn't find a single trace online."
The band members blinked, caught off guard.
Aaron kept going. "After tonight, I'm definitely not the only one curious about you. Even if it's just a tenth of the crowd, that's a thousand people wanting to check you out post-show, maybe even become fans. But there's nothing out there for them to find. That's a real pity."
It clicked for Alice right away—like YouTube videos, this was prime fan-building territory.
Forget concerts—even street gigs were the same. For an indie band, every fan was gold, worth holding onto tight. This Bruno Mars opening slot, sparked by online buzz, was proof of that.
Alice's initial footage was meant for this exact purpose, but she wasn't a pro music manager. How could she catch all these details? Uploading clips was just a spark of inspiration, not a full-on promo strategy.
Aaron didn't seem to know much about the band's backstory—probably hadn't talked in-depth with Bruno or John. Tonight's set had piqued his interest, so here he was. "You should book a studio ASAP, before this chance slips away."
But the band couldn't swing a studio right now—those hourly rates were way out of their league.
Aaron was just offering an outsider's take, a manager's perspective.
(End of chapter)