Time is money.
That saying's the real deal, and right now, it's exactly what One Day Kings are facing. Time literally is money—they've got to seize this chance to open for Bruno's world tour finale, ride the momentum, and snag some studio time with pro gear. It's the best move they've got.
On one side, opportunity. On the other, cash.
The situation's crystal clear, but clear doesn't mean easy. It's like water so pure there's no fish—clarity leaves no room for wiggle. They've got to pick one.
Ronan let out a long breath, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts. If it were up to him, he'd record in Philly, no question. But what about the others? And even if they all agreed, what about the studio costs? This wasn't something he could figure out solo—they'd need to sit down as a team and hash it out.
Buzz buzz!
Buzz buzz!
Without warning, his phone started vibrating on the nightstand. Ollie shot up like a zombie, stiff as a board, startling Ronan so bad he froze for a second. Then he waved it off, "Keep sleeping, keep sleeping," while grabbing the call.
"Morning, this is Ronan."
"Morning, this is Wyatt Garcia from Rolling Stone. I'd like to set up a face-to-face interview with One Day Kings. Does the band have time today?"
A calm, steady voice came through, cutting straight to the point. That one sentence packed a ton of info, and Ronan's brain short-circuited for a moment. The first thing that popped out was, "Do we have to pay for the interview?"
"What?" Wyatt sounded baffled, like he'd been hit with a curveball. Then it clicked. "Wait, you don't think this is a scam call, do you?"
"Haha!" Laughter burst from the other end, no answer needed—that was answer enough. Wyatt could practically feel the black lines forming on his forehead. "Mr. Ronan Cooper, I'm serious. I'm a Rolling Stone reporter. I can fax you my press ID and business card if you want to verify. I really want to interview One Day Kings. Trust me, a scammer wouldn't dig this deep."
Ronan thought it over, chuckling again despite himself, then realized he'd been rude. "Sorry, I didn't mean to joke. It's just—my reaction caught me off guard. I don't know where that came from. Maybe I still can't believe Rolling Stone's calling."
Wyatt paused, registering the oddity of the moment. He could hear the lightness in Ronan's voice, which made his own stiff tone stand out. The back-and-forth softened the vibe, and even his seriousness eased up a bit.
"When you stepped onto Bruno's stage, you stepped into the spotlight. You earned this interview with your performance—no need to be shocked," Wyatt said, still straight-faced but a touch more relaxed.
It was true. When Phiz Tantrum opened for Bruno and got some buzz, Rolling Stone had interviewed them too.
Even as a top-tier mag, Rolling Stone was always hunting for fresh stories. Every issue needed a new angle.
Indie bands and underground acts landing a feature wasn't unheard of. The real game was placement—print or online, page spot, that kind of thing. Those details decided the weight of the piece.
For now, Wyatt was just on interview duty. Where it'd land or how big it'd be? He couldn't say. It wasn't a special feature or anything.
But for One Day Kings, any interview was a win—especially from Rolling Stone. Print or online, front or back, didn't matter. A week ago, this was unthinkable.
Ronan had just been kidding, but since Wyatt took it seriously, he dropped the teasing and got down to business. "Of course we're in. It's an honor to talk to Rolling Stone. Scam or not, we'll find out when we meet, right?"
A little jab to lighten the mood.
Wyatt, though, was a brick wall—unfazed. "How about 3 p.m. at the Hilton lobby? That work?"
"No problem," Ronan replied, all business, locking it in clean and quick.
Hanging up, he sat there, phone in hand, dazed for a second.
Before all this kicked off, he'd done an interview once—text-based. The reporter's pitying, regretful look still felt vivid, sharp. A faint ache lingered in his overworked muscles, like it was yesterday.
But it wasn't. Three months had flown by.
Now… everything was different. He could hear, he could see, and he was still chasing his music dream, slowly finding his footing. They'd just rocked Bruno Mars' world tour stage, and here he was, fielding another interview. Things had changed.
Right?
Ronan snapped his wandering thoughts back to earth, tossed the phone aside, and sprang up. "Ollie!" He yanked the blanket off, trying to jolt him awake. Ollie just rolled over, ignoring him, so Ronan climbed onto the mattress and started bouncing.
"Up! Up, up, up! We've got an interview to prep for—gotta move! Rolling Stone! Ahhh, we need to get ready!"
Ollie flailed under the onslaught, trying to steady himself, but Ronan's bulk was too much. After a couple of tumbles, he got flung off the bed, one leg still clinging to the mattress, desperately gripping for dear life.
"Ah! Ronan Cooper! Stop! Stop it! You're a freaking pig! Ah! What are you doing? Can't you see my poor leg begging for mercy?"
Hahaha!
Ronan's wild, carefree laughter answered him, doubling over as he hopped off like a rabbit. He darted behind Ollie, ruffling his bird's-nest hair. "Get up, come on! Wash up, fix yourself—you don't want to show up in Rolling Stone looking like that." Then he bounced off, still grinning.
"No way, I'm not doing it! I'll stay like this—you can't make me!" Ollie's righteous protests echoed behind him, dripping with defiance.