A quick scroll revealed over 6,000 posts under the hashtag "Bruno's Opening Act." Compared to topics that rack up tens or hundreds of thousands of posts, 6,000 might seem modest—almost embarrassingly so. But this was hands-down the fastest-rising keyword in the last 24 hours.
And considering it'd only been 39 hours since One Day Kings made their official debut, performing two nights in a row for a total of 20,000 people, that number suddenly looked a lot more impressive.
Sure, there were bound to be plenty of repeat posts, plus folks who didn't even attend Bruno's concert but jumped in to join the hype. The figure was definitely inflated. Still, even with that in mind, you could feel the rocket-like surge of attention on One Day Kings. It left Wyatt dumbfounded.
"What's going on?"
Wyatt hadn't been at the concert himself. He'd seen so many shows he was sick of them—Bruno's "Love Song Chronicles" tour alone, he'd caught three times. He had zero interest in dragging himself back to the venue. His job didn't require him to be there in person anyway.
But now?
Wyatt realized he might've missed something big.
With that thought, he quickly pulled up Bruno Mars' personal account. Sure enough, he found a post from right after last night's show ended.
"Thanks, D.C.! Show's in the books! Big shoutout to One Day Kings! Tonight was epic!"
A string of hashtags followed, none of them "Bruno's Opening Act," just the usual ones tied to Bruno's tour. But clicking into the 3,000+ comments below, a quick scan showed mentions of "One Day Kings" and "opening act" popping up everywhere.
It was obvious: even without Bruno hyping them up full throttle, this band had left a mark on the crowd. For them to get name-dropped so often in Bruno's own comment section—his turf—was no small feat. A little opening act winning over Bruno's fans? That was rare.
Then there were the 6,000+ posts under "Bruno's Opening Act." With just a few strokes, you could sketch out the outline of an online buzz starting to brew.
No wonder the editor-in-chief was taking notice.
Still, Wyatt didn't rush to conclusions. He knew how deceptive internet hype could be—all foam, no substance. He needed to cool off and dig into what was really behind it. After mulling it over, he grabbed his phone again and started making calls, diving deeper into the story.
---
Meanwhile.
Ronan was curled up on the balcony sofa. The table in front of him held the remnants of breakfast: an empty plate with two lonely carrot sticks, a glass of orange juice down to its last sip, and scattered breadcrumbs on the glass surface. A half-eaten block of butter was draped with a napkin, while a fruit platter—cantaloupe, watermelon, grapes—glistened temptingly under the blue sky and white clouds. Lazy sunlight bathed half the balcony, and it was clear Ronan had scrunched himself up to dodge the rays.
A gentle sea breeze drifted in.
The ash-gray curtains fluttered lightly. Inside, on the bed, Ollie was still out cold, sprawled in a deep sleep after pouring everything into rehearsals and two straight nights of blazing performances. He was tangled up with the blankets, inseparable.
In the quiet, only Ronan's soft chatting broke the stillness. Far from disrupting it, his voice only deepened the room's calm.
"Yeah… we've noticed it too… ugh…"
Ronan had the phone wedged against his shoulder, letting out a small sigh. He didn't say much, but the person on the other end seemed to get it completely, chuckling lightly. "I know, I get it. Remember? We're still in the same boat ourselves."
That brought a smile to Ronan's lips. "Oh, I remember. That's why I called you today."
On the other end was Jeremiah Forrest from Radiance Band. They'd kept in touch ever since meeting in New Orleans.
Radiance was also touring across the U.S. Their situation was a bit better than One Day Kings'. They could sell tickets at legit venues—small ones, 300 or 400 people, sometimes sharing the bill with other indie bands—but still, proper mini-concerts. Things were looking up for them.
Jeremiah called Ronan often. Wesley Schultz, another Radiance member, called even more, but Wesley was like Ollie and Maxim combined—a chatterbox who could overwhelm even Ronan. So when Ronan reached out, he usually dialed Jeremiah directly. Of course, even then, Wesley's voice was never far off.
Like right now.
"Ronan…" Wesley's voice boomed from a distance, so loud Ronan had to pull the phone away from his ear. That high-pitched energy cut through like a knife. "That new song? I love it, love it, love it! God, how did you write those lyrics? I'm obsessed with that bittersweet vibe—perfect for street gigs, especially in New York. You have to play it on New York streets!"
He rattled on, not waiting for a reply, just tossing out an "Love you!" before fading off.
Ronan and Jeremiah were used to it by now. "Tell him thanks for me. He's always so supportive. You know most of my confidence comes from Wesley," Ronan said, a grin creeping into his eyes. Annoying as it was, it felt warm and familiar.
"That's 'cause you deserve it. Try getting Wesley to praise someone else—he'd probably choke on his words for half a day," Jeremiah said with a laugh. Then he pulled the phone away and shouted, "Ronan says he loves you too!" Faint cheers from Wesley echoed back before Jeremiah returned.
"If you're ready to hit the studio, Philly's a solid choice," he said, steering back to the day's main topic.
That's why Ronan had called Jeremiah today—to talk about recording.
Allen's advice made a lot of sense, but Ronan and the band were still fumbling in the dark, lacking clear direction. They needed some pro-level input:
Should they head into a studio for real? Especially with cash so tight—would it pay off? Or should they stick to touring, waiting for the right moment? Maybe bet big on Allen's connections and hope a record label bites?
Radiance had been through it themselves, so Jeremiah's take carried weight.
(End of chapter)