A week had passed since "Heart on a Sleeve" dropped. Tyler had felt the shift almost instantly—streams skyrocketing, comments and likes flooding his social media accounts, and articles buzzing about the fresh talent who had captured everyone's attention. But nothing compared to the moment he saw the latest update: his single debuting at number 3 on the top 100 charts.
Number 3? He couldn't believe it. His phone pinged again, but this time, it wasn't a social media alert—it was the system chiming in.
[Congratulations! You've achieved a new milestone: "Heart on a Sleeve" debuts 3rd on the top 100 charts. Reward: 500XP.]
Tyler smirked. 500XP was no joke. He watched the XP bar on the screen edge closer to the next level, the system's familiar interface updating.
Tyler's mind quickly switched gears. He was in the middle of working on some beats at home, experimenting with new sounds to improve his production skills. While Kai was still his go-to guy for making fire tracks, Tyler didn't want to be dependent on anyone. He wanted to sharpen his skills, be more versatile—control more of the creative process. That was part of the game, and the system seemed to reward it, too.
He leaned over the desk, adjusting the levels on the track he was tweaking. The beat was solid, but something was still missing. He leaned back, running his fingers over his face, frustrated. The sound had to be perfect. The more he worked on it, the more he could feel his production stats growing, even though there wasn't any indication on the system.
He could feel his ear for music getting sharper, the nuances in each sample, the timing of the drums, everything was slowly coming together.
His phone buzzed again. Tyler glanced over and saw Jamal's name flash across the screen.
Yo, we need to talk. Big news.
Tyler's eyebrow rose. He put his headphones aside and picked up the phone, dialing Jamal's number.
"Yo, what's good, J?" Tyler asked, his voice calm, but his curiosity peaking.
"Man, I got some fire news for you," Jamal started, his tone matching the excitement in his words.
"You heard of Kiana, right? The pop star who fell off a bit in the last couple years? Yeah, her team reached out. She wants to meet up."
Tyler's brow furrowed. "Kiana? What's she tryna do?"
"Remix, bro. She heard 'Heart on a Sleeve' and wants to hop on it. Could be a huge move for you, Ty."
For a second, Tyler didn't know what to say. Kiana? The girl had been everywhere a few years ago, on every station, every playlist. A remix with her could really push his name even further. But the thought of more public attention made him anxious. More exposure meant more chances for someone to recognize him—someone from his past.
"You sure this ain't no setup?" Tyler asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't want no funny business."
"Nah, man. I've been talking to her people all day. It's legit. She heard your joint on the radio and was feelin' it."
Tyler nodded to himself but couldn't shake the paranoia. "We doin' this in public or nah? Paparazzi be on some other shit. Don't need my face plastered all over the blogs."
Jamal chuckled. "I figured you'd say that. We'll keep it low-key, set the meeting in a studio where nobody can spot you. I got you, bro."
Tyler sighed, feeling a bit of relief. "Aight, let's set it up. But keep this thing tight, Jamal. No slip-ups."
"Don't worry, I got it covered. I'll shoot you the details later. Stay ready."
As Tyler hung up, he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and tension. A collaboration with Kiana? That could be next level, but the last thing he needed was to attract more attention from the media or, worse, the streets. He got up and moved to the window, glancing outside. Even in this nicer neighborhood, he felt like eyes were on him—whether they were or not.
His paranoia wasn't unfounded. He knew what it meant to blow up in the music game. Everything from the past started crawling out, and people loved to dig. Carlos and Rico might be laying low, but that didn't mean they were out of the picture. The last thing he wanted was for them—or anyone connected to that life—to figure out who "Ty the Phoenix" really was.
Tyler paced back to the couch, still thinking it over. Working with Kiana was a golden opportunity, but the risks came with it. He was already starting to feel that old tension creeping back into his chest—the constant worry of being watched, of something going sideways. But this was the life he chose when he started spitting into the mic. Every bar, every song, came with a price.
His phone buzzed again. Another text from Jamal: Meeting's tomorrow. Studio's locked in. Be there by 6.