Allen woke up to the soft hum of his phone vibrating on his nightstand. At first, he was too groggy to care. But as the vibrations persisted, growing louder with the increasing flood of notifications, he reluctantly reached over, knocking an empty soda can to the floor. His fingers fumbled for the phone, his brain still half asleep, and when he finally pulled the device into view, his eyes squinted against the brightness of the screen.
The first thing he noticed was a string of messages from Benji.
"DUDE, CHECK YOUR STREAMS!!!"
"Fading Lights is blowing up, man!"
"Bro, you did it!"
Still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Allen tapped open the Botify app. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the numbers: 75,000 streams. His song had exploded overnight, a surge of listeners flooding in after his performance at The Hive. The song had connected with people, and the boost in streams was more than he had dared to hope for.
For a few seconds, Allen just stared at the number, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction from one small performance. But there it was, right in front of him—proof that his music was resonating, that he was moving in the right direction.
The familiar ping of the system sounded in his mind.
Current stream count: 75,000. Showbiz Points earned: +750. Total Showbiz Points: 1,550.
"Almost there," he muttered to himself, feeling a surge of determination. He was close—so close to earning another 1,000 points and upgrading his skills again. He knew the competition would be fierce, and every edge mattered. After all, his competitors were talented in their own right, and he couldn't afford to go in underprepared.
Allen swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched, his muscles still stiff from the night before. Today was the day of the competition, the one he'd been working toward for weeks. This was it—the real deal. No more warm-ups, no more casual performances. This was the stage that could make or break him.
His phone buzzed again, and this time it was a message from Sarah.
"Good luck today! You're gonna crush it!"
Allen smiled to himself, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves tighten in his chest. He didn't reply right away, not wanting to get caught up in too much back-and-forth before the competition. But her message gave him a small boost of confidence nonetheless.
After a quick shower, Allen threw on a plain black t-shirt, his favorite pair of jeans, and his lucky jacket—the one that had seen him through every important gig so far. As he caught his reflection in the mirror, he paused. His appearance was... fine. Decent. But he still had points he could invest into Appearance if he wanted. It wouldn't make him a runway model, but it might give him a little extra presence on stage.
He hesitated, though. With only 1,550 showbiz points, he needed to be strategic. Should he save them for a more practical skill? Guitar and Vocal Talent were already at 5/10, but he was going to need to push them higher eventually. Every point would count when he was up there performing for the judges.
For now, he decided against spending any points. He wanted to keep building his reserves until he had enough to make a bigger upgrade. It was a gamble, but it felt like the right move.
After grabbing his guitar case, Allen double-checked the clock. He still had a couple of hours before he needed to be at the venue. He'd rehearsed his set more times than he could count, but the butterflies in his stomach made him wonder if he should go through it one more time.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, strumming the first few chords of "Fading Lights." The melody felt familiar, like an old friend, but now, there was something else there—a deeper connection to the music. His fingers moved smoothly over the strings, and his voice, stronger since his last upgrade, carried the lyrics with more control and power. Even as he practiced, he could feel the progress he had made over the past few weeks.
The system had helped, sure, but it wasn't just the stats. It was the hours he had put in, the late nights practicing until his fingers were sore, the performances that had pushed him out of his comfort zone. The system might have given him an edge, but the work had still been his.
When he finished running through the song, he felt ready. More than ready. It was time.
The walk to the venue wasn't far, but it felt like miles. The competition was being held at a small but well-known theater downtown, a place that had seen its fair share of rising stars. As Allen approached the building, his nerves spiked again. He could see a small crowd gathered outside—other competitors, fans, maybe even some industry insiders. He could feel the tension in the air, the pressure mounting as everyone anticipated what was about to unfold.
He clutched the handle of his guitar case a little tighter, his palms starting to sweat. This was it. The competition that could launch his career—or remind him just how tough this industry really was.
As he reached the doors of the theater, Allen took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the looming challenge ahead of him. He stepped through the doors, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders.
Inside, the venue buzzed with activity. Contestants were checking in, stagehands were rushing around making last-minute adjustments, and the hum of nervous conversations filled the air. Allen spotted a few familiar faces—other musicians he had crossed paths with during his rise. Some looked calm, others as jittery as he felt. But no one here was an amateur. Everyone had something to prove.
He approached the check-in desk, where a young woman with a clipboard greeted him with a professional smile.
"Name?" she asked.
"Allen Reid."
She scanned her list and nodded. "You're all set. You're in the third group to perform. Please wait in the green room until your group is called."
Allen thanked her and headed toward the green room, his mind racing. Third group. That gave him some time to watch the first few performers, see what the competition was bringing. It also meant more time to let the nerves build. But he tried to push that thought aside. He had practiced for this. He was ready. All he had to do was go out there and give it his all.
As he stepped into the green room, the reality of the competition hit him harder than ever. This wasn't just a casual performance or a friendly showcase. This was the real thing. And when he stepped on that stage, it would be up to him to show everyone—judges, fans, and competitors alike—that he belonged here.
He could feel the weight of the guitar slung over his shoulder as he sat down, his mind running through the setlist one last time. He didn't know what would happen today, but one thing was certain: he was going to leave everything on that stage.
The competition was about to begin, and Allen was ready.