Three Days.
I had three days to prepare for the recording, and somehow my brain had decided that was enough time to develop creative anxiety instead of normal paralyzing anxiety.
The difference? Creative anxiety makes you do things. Lots of things. Possibly too many things.
"Okay," I said to my empty apartment the morning after my meeting with Marcus, already on my second coffee (which still tasted like burnt tires, but at least it was caffeine). "Let's make a list. Because lists are what keep functional people functional."
I opened my old laptop and created a new document:
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OPERATION: DON'T SCREW THIS UP
Things to do before Thursday:
1. Practice "Someone Like You" until I don't need to think about the lyrics anymore
2. Figure out what to wear (something that looks artistic but not like I'm trying too hard)
3. Practice more
4. Maybe learn how to do video makeup? (Is there a difference between normal makeup and camera makeup???)
5. PRACTICE
6. Don't freak out
7. Okay I'll probably freak out but do it productively
8. Figure out how exactly I'm going to sing without piano accompaniment (wait, DO I NEED A PIANO???)
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I looked at the last item and felt panic starting to bubble.
"Crap," I murmured. "I need a piano. The song is literally called a piano ballad. How did I not think of that before?"
I grabbed my phone and quickly messaged Marcus:
Me: Possibly stupid question - do I need to bring a piano? Or do you have one? Or should I use a track? Help I'm having a mini meltdown
The reply came in less than a minute:
Marcus: BREATHE. I have an electric keyboard here that works perfectly. Or I can arrange a backing track if you prefer. Which do you think you'd be more comfortable with?
Me: Track probably? I don't play piano, I just sing
Marcus: Perfect! Send me the song or the sheet music and I'll create a track. Or if you have an instrumental version you like, send that too
Right. Sheet music.
Which I obviously didn't have because the song was from another universe.
"Okay, this is… this is going to require creativity," I said to the laptop.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the song. I had listened to "Someone Like You" about a thousand times in my previous life. Knew every note, every pause, every emotional moment.
But I couldn't read sheet music. And I definitely didn't know how to write it.
"Technology," I murmured, opening a new browser tab. "There has to be some online tool or something."
Ten minutes of research later, I had found a program called MusicScribe that claimed it could create sheet music if you hummed or sang the melody.
"Okay," I said, downloading the free program. "Let's try this."
I plugged my old headphones into the laptop, opened the program, and started humming the piano melody of "Someone Like You".
The program… actually worked? Like, not perfectly, but it captured the general melody enough that it sounded recognizable.
"Holy crap, technology is amazing," I murmured, making small adjustments where the program had misunderstood.
Two hours later—TWO HOURS because it turns out creating sheet music even with software help is laborious—I had something that reasonably resembled the instrumental version of "Someone Like You".
I exported it as an audio file and sent it to Marcus with a message:
Me: Okay, managed to create an instrumental track. It's not perfect but it should work? Let me know if it needs adjustments
Marcus: Received! I'll take a look and do some quality adjustments. You're multi-talented, you know? Composition AND performance!
Me: Haha thanks. Just trying not to screw this up 😅
Marcus: You're gonna rock it. Trust me, I have a sense for these things
I smiled at the screen, feeling some of the anxiety ease.
With the accompaniment problem solved, I went back to my list.
Next item: practice.
I grabbed my phone, played the instrumental track I had created, and started singing along.
And… wow.
The Angelic Voice really was something special.
Even without trying too hard, my voice sounded amazing. Rich, emotionally resonant, every note perfectly in tune without conscious effort. It was as if the skill was guiding my voice automatically, correcting small imperfections before they even happened.
"Okay," I said after the first complete run-through. "Okay, that was… that was good. I can do this."
I practiced again. And again. And again.
By the fifth time, I was really feeling the song. Letting the emotion of the lyrics—about lost love, about having to let go, about finding someone like you but not exactly you—flow through my voice.
And when I finished, I realized I had tears in my eyes.
"Damn," I whispered, wiping my face. "That was… intense."
My phone rang, making me jump.
I looked at the screen. An unknown number.
Hesitantly, I answered. "Hello?"
"Miss Cassandra?" A professional female voice said. "This is Sarah from National Bank. We're calling regarding the security verification for the large deposit into your account."
Ah. Right. The bank had mentioned that in the notifications.
"Yes, hello," I said, trying to sound adult and responsible. "What do you need?"
"Just confirmation of a few details to verify the transaction was legitimate. It's standard procedure for deposits over one million dollars."
We spent the next ten minutes with her asking security questions—confirming my identity, the source of the funds (legal settlement), whether I intended to make large withdrawals soon (maybe?).
"All verified," Sarah finally said. "Your funds are fully accessible. Is there anything else we can assist you with today?"
"Actually," I said, an idea popping up, "do you have any kind of… financial advisor? Or someone who can help me not… you know, spend it all stupidly?"
There was a pause. "We do have wealth management services available for clients with balances over one million. Would you like me to schedule a consultation?"
"Yes, please," I said. Because honestly, I had no idea what to do with two million dollars besides "don't blow it all on chicken cheese tornados".
After scheduling a meeting with a financial advisor for next week, I hung up and looked around my tiny apartment.
Two million dollars. Angelic Voice. A professional video being recorded in three days.
My life had changed so drastically in less than a week it was almost surreal.
"Okay," I said out loud. "No time for an existential crisis. Back to the list."
I spent the rest of the day alternating between practicing the song, researching camera makeup tips (apparently you HAVE to exaggerate or it looks washed out on screen—who knew?), and trying to figure out what the hell to wear.
The problem with the "right outfit" was that I wanted something that felt… authentic. Not like I was trying to be someone I wasn't.
Cassandra's memories had lots of designer clothes, but they all felt… fake now. Performative. Dressed to impress people who didn't truly care.
"Something simple," I murmured, digging through my limited closet. "Something that's just… me."
I eventually settled on a few options to bring on Thursday and let Marcus give his opinion. He was the professional, after all.
On the second day, I woke up early (well, early for me—eight-thirty) and decided to do something possibly stupid: go to the park and practice singing in public.
Not a full performance. Just… humming, singing quietly, getting used to the idea of people potentially listening.
Because in three days, I would be singing in front of cameras. And eventually, if all went well, in front of thousands or millions of people online.
"No pressure," I told my reflection while brushing my teeth. "Just bare your soul to the entire world. Easy."
The nearest park was about a fifteen-minute walk away—a small but pleasant green space with some benches, trees, and a surprising number of pigeons that seemed to have zero fear of humans.
I found an empty bench in a quieter corner, put in my headphones (just one ear), and started singing along quietly with the track.
No one paid any attention. People were too busy with their own lives—walking dogs, jogging, sitting on their phones.
Slowly, I got a bit louder.
An elderly lady walking slowly near my bench paused for a second, looked at me, smiled kindly, and kept walking.
A guy in his early thirties playing with his dog glanced in my direction, nodded appreciatively, and went back to his dog.
No one screamed. No one laughed. No one told me to shut up.
"Okay," I murmured between verses. "Not as terrifying as I thought."
It was actually… kind of nice? Just sitting in the sun, singing to no one in particular, feeling the music flow naturally.
I practiced the full song three more times before deciding I'd had enough public exposure for one day.
I was on my way home when my phone vibrated.
Marcus: How's practice going? Feeling prepared?
Me: Practicing lots! Just sang in the park and no one threw tomatoes so I guess that's a good sign?
Marcus: HAHA love it. That's the right spirit. Btw worked on the track you sent. It's INCREDIBLE. Like seriously, this song is beautiful. You have a talent for composition, no joke
Me: Thank you!! I'm nervous but also like… weirdly excited?
Marcus: That's how you should be feeling! Nerves mean you care. Just don't let it turn into paralyzing panic haha
Me: No promises but I'll try 😅
Marcus: You're gonna rock it. I already know. See you Thursday! 🌟
I put my phone away smiling.
The next two days passed in a blur of practice, preparation, and the occasional freak-out that I quickly pushed down with more practice.
On Wednesday night, the eve of the recording, I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, my brain refusing to shut down.
"Okay," I whispered into the dark. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow is when it really starts."
I grabbed my phone and opened the system.
The familiar blue screen appeared:
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[ SUCCESS SYSTEM ]
Name: Cassandra
Age: 20 Years
Path: Singer
Stats:
Strength: 34
Agility: 46
Intelligence: 81
Charm: 68
Willpower: 77
Luck: 52
Skills:
• Angelic Voice
Active Mission:
• Record and publish a professional video on Wetube
---
"Tomorrow," I said to the screen. "Tomorrow I complete this mission."
The screen blinked once, as if agreeing, and disappeared.
I locked my phone, put it aside, and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow I would record my first professional video.
Tomorrow I would take the first real step to becoming something more than just a disposable web novel villain.
Tomorrow everything would change.
But today?
Today I needed to sleep.
"You can do this," I whispered to myself in the dark. "You totally can."
And for the first time in a long time, I actually believed it.