The week passed quickly.

Dayo barely had time to rest as he prepared for the Global Competition. His suitcase was already packed—clothes, equipment, notebooks, everything he thought he might need. He wouldn't be around for a while; each stage of the competition would be hosted in a different country, starting with Japan.

He sat at his desk one evening, going over his plans for the last time. His biggest focus that week had not even been himself—it had been Lois's album. The anticipation had been building ever since their single together, Best Part, blew up. Fans were hungry for more, and the timing couldn't have been better.

Spotify: already at 12 million streams.

Apple Music: crossing 5 million.

Audiomack: sitting at 4 million.

YouTube: fan-uploaded clips of their live rehearsal performances had already topped 7 million combined.

For a brand-new artist, these figures were hard to believe. The album's pre-orders were climbing by the hour, boosted by Dayo's careful marketing and his team's effort to push Lois.

He and his team had gone over the release plan multiple times, preparing backup strategies in case anything went wrong. The system's Trend Instinct skill had proven right again—this was the moment to strike.

But Dayo knew how much sweat had gone into it. Long nights, countless promo pushes, and constant engagement with fans. It wasn't luck; it was work… plus the system guiding him.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. "This album is going to sell like crazy," he muttered. And for once, he truly believed it.

That same week, he tied up all loose ends, including a delayed session with Youssef. Finally, he felt ready. It had been hectic, but Dayo knew it all had to be settled before the competition consumed his focus.

When everything was finally in place, he zipped his suitcase shut and sat on the edge of his bed. Tomorrow, everything changed.

***

The morning of his flight, his family gathered at JFK airport in New York. The Global Competition Committee had arranged transportation for all 60 contestants flying to Tokyo.

Dayo hugged his ever-emotional sister first. She clung to him tightly, sobbing into his chest.

"Don't cry too much," he teased, rubbing her back. "I'll call every day."

"You better," she sniffled, refusing to let go.

His younger brother stepped up next. They did their usual handshake before pulling into a hug. The boy's face was stiff, his eyes glossy, but he refused to let the tears fall.

One look, and Dayo understood.

Finally, his father patted his back firmly, a proud smile on his face. "You're making all of us proud. Keep doing what you do best, son. All the best."

His mother, quieter than the rest, simply smiled at him. Her eyes carried a mix of pride and worry. Dayo leaned in and hugged her, whispering, "I'll be fine, Mom. Trust me."

He gave them all one last wave before stepping into the boarding line.

The flight from New York to Tokyo took about 14 hours. For most of it, Dayo either listened to music, jotted notes for future songs, or quietly observed the other contestants traveling with him.

He found himself seated near four other U.S. representatives.

The first he noticed was, of course, Frank Kane. They hadn't exchanged words, but the tension was immediate. Frank carried himself like he was above everyone, his eyes scanning the cabin as though the rest of them didn't matter. Dayo could sense the hostility without a single word spoken. Maybe Frank was still irritated about losing first place in the Wildcard round. Either way, Dayo just shrugged it off.

Behind Frank sat a thin young man named Brandon Lee, early 20s, who laughed a little too hard at everything Frank said. He shadowed Frank like glue, showering him with constant praise. "Your wildcard song was crazy, man. I swear, the way you performed, nobody can touch that." It was clear desperation. Dayo understood what he was seeing: a bootlicker. He didn't even blame him fully; Frank was backed by Michael, and anyone with sense would try to cozy up.

Two others were much easier to get along with. Tyrell, in his mid-20s, a lively singer from New York who had debuted the year before and was signed to the label since he started competing on the Global competition, had a booming laugh that instantly put people at ease. He filled the hours with jokes and stories. Maya, around 23, a songwriter and singer from LA, was more reserved. Gentle, calm, a bit shy. She had already gained attention from viral acoustic sets that had circulated online for months, and she was also signed to one of the Big Five.

At some point, the conversation naturally turned to Dayo.

"You're Dayo Jason, right? Man, we saw your Wildcard performance," Tyrell said with a grin. "That was insane."

Maya nodded. "Yeah. The way you arranged that stage… honestly, it was on another level. And not to mention the single with Luna and—what's her name again?"

"Lois," Dayo supplied.

"Right! Lois. I've had that track on repeat," Maya admitted.

Even Brandon chimed in, though his eyes never strayed far from Frank. "Yeah, you were good," he muttered, before quickly adding louder, "But Frank here, he's the real deal."

Dayo smiled politely, but inside, his curiosity stirred. These were the people being touted as the next generation of superstars. He wanted to know where they stood.

Status view

Frank Kane (25)

Singing: B+

Writing: C-

Visual: B

Instrument (Trumpet): B-

Potential: S+

Brandon Lee (early 22)

Singing: A-

Writing: D+

Visual: C+

Instrument (Guitar): B+

Potential: A+

Tyrell (24)

Singing: A-

Writing: C+

Visual: B+

Instrument (Drums): A+

Potential: SS

Maya (24)

Singing: B+

Writing: S-

Visual: B+

Instrument (Violin): B+

Potential: S+

Dayo exhaled slowly, impressed. They weren't just random names—each one had strengths that could blossom into something dangerous. Maya's S- in writing caught his eye, especially. He envied it; he couldn't wait to hear what she had written. Tyrell's musicality was rock-solid. Even Frank, despite his uneven stats, had raw potential that couldn't be ignored.

Frank seemed to notice Dayo's quiet observation and turned, meeting his gaze with cold contempt.

The air between them stayed heavy for the rest of the flight. Tyrell kept cracking jokes, Maya shared softly spoken stories, Brandon continued his shameless praise of Frank, and Frank himself hardly said a word, his eyes fixed forward as if daring anyone to challenge him.

Dayo stayed calm. He engaged casually with Tyrell and Maya—it was worth building bridges in case they ever had to work together. But in his mind, he kept one thing clear: in the end, he'd let his music do the talking.

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