The bus ride back from the arena was quiet. Nobody joked or laughed much—everyone was lost in thought. Some contestants leaned against the windows, headphones in, pretending to sleep, while others whispered about the teams that had just been formed. Dayo sat with his arms folded, staring straight ahead. His mind was stuck on one thing: what song are we going to do, and how am I going to manage this team?
When they arrived at the hotel, the staff quickly guided each group into their assigned practice rooms. Dayo's group was the last to enter.
The studio wasn't flashy, but it had everything they needed—drums, guitars, keyboards, microphones, even a trumpet stand pushed into the corner. A few producers and cameramen adjusted equipment, clipped mics to their shirts, and then left, leaving the five of them alone. The door closed with a heavy thud.
Dayo clapped his hands once. "Alright. Let's get started."
