The MC paused. "And the contestant leaving from Team Dayo is…"

He let the silence hang. Everyone held their breath.

"…Tyrell Hayes."

Tyrell froze for a moment, blinking. "Wait—what?"

Maya's mouth fell open. Emily's hand went straight to her mouth. Frank's face tried to stay poker, but there was a slight smirk on his lips; he knew what was at play, so he expected this much.

Dayo's expression stayed still for a second. He felt angry, sad, and frustrated—but he knew all that wouldn't solve anything. He turned toward Tyrell and patted his shoulder gently.

"Hey… you did great, man."

Tyrell forced a smile, trying not to show how much it hurt. "Yeah. Guess someone had to go."

Maya whispered softly, "But that's unfair! He didn't even mess up!"

The MC's ear caught it and he quickly said, "Please, let's keep the stage orderly. These are the judges' decisions."

Tyrell sighed, then gave Dayo a quick nod and stepped back. The applause was softer this time—respectful, but the arena knew something was off even if they couldn't tell what.

As he walked offstage, he turned briefly and called out, "Kill it in the next round, yeah?"

"Always. And hey, don't give up. You still have a chance to come back if the fans choose you, so cheer up—I'll canvas for you," Dayo replied quietly.

Tyrell smiled faintly at Dayo. "Sure, bro. I appreciate it a lot."

The group stood together again, one person short.

From the judges' table, Carolina Vega's expression didn't change. But Marcus Cole leaned slightly toward Lucien and whispered, "Can this get any worse?"

Lucien muttered back, "Only time will tell, my friend."

Dayo looked toward Frank, who was staring at the ground, avoiding everyone's eyes.

The cause of everything—and the one who still got to stay even after messing up. But he couldn't blame the judges; after all, they were powerless when it came to someone like Michael.

He was a man who could make or end careers with just a few calls.

Dayo sighed, trying not to dwell on it. The thought annoyed him—how powerless he was. His mind began to wander, but his phone suddenly rang, snapping him back.

Youssef.

"Ah, Youssef, what's up?" Dayo said, forcing a small smile.

"Haha, Dayo, my lucky star! I'm good. What about you?"

Dayo laughed. Youssef had been calling him his "lucky star" ever since they recorded that single together. His label had been preparing to release it as the lead song on his upcoming album.

"I'm fine, man. So how's the album coming along?"

"Yeah, just wanted to let you know it's been done for a while. I didn't call 'cause I knew you were busy with the competition."

"Yeah, it's been hectic and fruitful. Congratulations on the album, by the way."

"Thanks! That's actually why I called. The label's dropping our single this coming week, so I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Ah, that's great news. Congrats again."

"Hehe, sure. I just wanted to ask if you'll be around when it drops."

"Oh, that might not be possible. We still don't know where the next round will be held."

Just then, a voice came from behind Dayo.

"It'll be Morocco."

"Huh…?"

Dayo turned back to see Frank sitting just behind him, his face blank.

"I said the next round will be held in Morocco," he repeated, before standing up and leaving like nothing happened.

Dayo wanted to ask how he knew that, but he remembered who Frank's backer was—and he knew exactly where the information came from.

He looked lost for a moment before muttering, "What's gotten into him?"

Then Youssef's voice brought him back. "So, what were you saying?"

"Oh, right. I think there's a chance I might be around. Let's keep it fifty-fifty."

"Hmm, that's better. Alright then. From the sound of your voice, I'm guessing you qualified for the next stage. Congrats, man."

"Hehe, yeah, I did. Thanks. Alright, take care, Youssef."

"Sure, bro. Talk soon."

The call ended. Dayo sat there for a while, staring into space. He looked around for Frank, but he was gone. He wanted to ask why he'd told him about the next location—but now, there was no one to ask.

Dayo stood and began walking toward his room, his thoughts racing.

Could this be another move from Michael? A quiet way of reminding him who really had control?

His mind spun with possibilities.

Then suddenly—Bam!—he bumped into someone.

"Oh, I'm sorr—" he looked up, freezing.

"Misha?"

"Dayo…"

They both stared for a moment, the air thick with surprise.

****

Inside his office Michael sat behind his desk, eyes buried in a document he was clearly busy.

A gentle knock followed.

"Sir," a voice said from the doorway.

He didn't look up. "Come in."

His assistant, Clara, stepped forward, tablet in hand. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's been an update concerning the competition."

Michael exhaled slowly and waved his hand once. "Go ahead."

She hesitated. "It's about Frank."

Micheale made a pause.

He lifted his gaze from the papers. He took off his work glasses, then off slowly and folded them. "What did he do now?"

Clara bit her lip briefly. "It's better if you watch it."

She handed him the tablet. Michael leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and pressed play.

The performance began. The moment Frank's trumpet slipped, Michael's brow furrowed slightly—but as the group recovered, his expression shifted. He said nothing until the song ended, then replayed the last part once more.

When the judges' comments rolled in, he paused the video.

"So they covered for him again," he said flatly.

Clara nodded. "Yes, sir. The panel invoked Rule Three — judges' discretion. Dayo's group lost only one member, even though Frank's mistake almost cost the set they eliminated a person who didnt make mistake. and they are scared it might have a blacklash"

Michael leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers pressed together. Then he brought out his phome and made a phone call.

"Hello Frank made a mistake and i want you to make it less obvious"

That was all he said before hanging up.

For a while, he said nothing, only stared at the frozen frame of Dayo on the screen.

Then, a faint smile tugged at his lips. "You know what's strange, Clara?"

"What's that, sir?"

"Frank made a mistake and instead of panicking as one would at that age… and instead, he turned it into something even better. That recovery wasn't luck — its maturity and potenttial a hard one to come."

Clara tilted her head. "So… what do you want us to do?"

Michael reached for his glasses again, slipping them on. "I think it's time we stop waiting."

"Meaning?"

"Push the offer forward. If he's half as capable as I think he is, I don't want anyone else getting to him first."

"Understood, sir. I'll have the team draft the file."

Michael nodded once, gaze fixed on the paused image. "And make sure this clip about Frank has less people talking about it. The narrative should be clean."

"Yes, sir," Clara replied, bowing slightly before leaving the room.

Once the door closed, Michael sat in silence for a moment, watching Dayo's calm face on the screen.

Then he muttered, almost to himself, "Smart kid. Let's see how far you can really go."

He leaned back in his chair, with only him knowing what he had in mind.

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