Thursday night deepened, the lights outside flickering off one by one as the world hushed.
The Full Moon Party was set for Saturday afternoon, leaving One Day Kings with just about forty hours to rehearse. Their to-do list was already overflowing, and "practice a brand-new song" wasn't even on it.
Maxim finally got what Cliff meant. He stopped pushing, shoulders slumping in disappointment, but his eyes still burned into Cliff, wanting to say something—anything. Words just wouldn't come.
Cliff felt it too. "I know, I get it. Everything you said makes sense. But we've got a ton to finish right now."
"Tonight, we were just saying—should we rent a practice room tomorrow? We all know how big this Full Moon Party is. We can't mess up. This might be our best shot… maybe our last."
Cliff paused, then pressed on.
"We don't have time. We can't take risks. Rehearse a song in one day? Skip practicing the rest of our set? We can't afford to crash and burn."
Helpless, but real.
Ronan's feelings tangled up. If he could, he'd love to see his song hit the stage—it'd be unforgettable. But Cliff was right; they couldn't gamble. Ronan wanted to speak up, but deep down, confidence wavered: Is my song really that good? Good enough to bet everything on? Can it really show a new side of us?
Risk meant rolling the dice, and Ronan wasn't sure of his own hand. Convincing the team to take the leap? He couldn't find the words.
"I don't think so." Ollie's voice cut through, drawing every eye.
Calmer now, Ollie had thought it over. A quiet certainty settled on his face as he met his bandmates' gazes head-on.
"What do we have left to lose? What consequences can't we handle?"
Ollie's words hung there. Cliff opened his mouth to argue but came up blank. Ollie didn't give him a chance to recover, barreling on.
"Let's say we stick to our usual set and nail it. Will the Full Moon Party really change anything? The same old show—we've done it a hundred times over seven years. Sure, this one's bigger—scale, crowd, all that—but at its core, it's the same."
Noticing Cliff's urge to interrupt, Ollie shut it down, holding firm.
"Even if we're flawless, no one can guarantee this gig will stand out. Cliff, you've got to admit that."
Ollie leaned in, relentless. Cliff's mouth moved, but no sound came.
"Plus, this Full Moon Party was never in the plan. We didn't dare dream of it, but now it's ours. Why play it safe out of fear when we could go all out for one last shot?"
"Cliff, remember what you said last night? Sticking to the routine gets us nowhere. Without this gig, maybe after five more bar shows, we'd call it quits. Now we've got this chance. If we go for it, what's the worst that happens? How bad could it really get?"
"We've hung on for years, never daring to risk it—and we're still stuck. Maybe playing it safe isn't working anymore. It's time to take a chance."
Ollie paused. "We're all scared of screwing up, but here's the thing: we've got nothing left to lose."
His words landed.
Then he turned to Ronan with a big grin. "I love your song. Like Maxim said, it captures where we're at—our mindset, our struggle. And the way you sing it? I feel it too."
"We should take it to the stage. Let more people hear it!"
That was the best affirmation Ronan could've asked for.
Warmth bloomed inside him, his nose tingling, but mostly it was joy—pure happiness that his creation was embraced. He raised his right hand, bumping elbows with Ollie in thanks and unspoken harmony.
Cliff let out a soft sigh. "…But," he got the logic, "there's just no time. Weren't you two arguing over it? The arrangement's not even done—how do we rehearse?"
"Then we start right now." Ronan finally spoke up, straightening his back, fighting for the song he'd just poured his heart into.
From Maxim to Ollie, they'd stood up for him. Now he owed it to himself to believe in his work and seize this shot.
Catching Cliff's worried look, though, Ronan's confidence flickered. "Unless… you've got more thoughts on the song? I'm all ears."
Unspoken but clear: If you don't like it, we're tackling a different problem.
"No, no way!" Cliff waved his hands fast. "I love it, Ronan. No doubt about it. I'm serious."
Ronan nodded, relieved, and rolled with it. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's dive into the arrangement."
If they were really doing this at the Full Moon Party, time was gold. No more waffling—they had to grab every second.
Cliff was right about one thing: time was tight. Arrangement, final draft, rehearsal, coordination, performance—normally, a new song took a band one to two weeks. Syncing instruments was a grind; one slip could tank the show. Plus, their gear was bare-bones, piling on more hurdles.
And now?
Less than forty hours.
Even debating was a luxury they couldn't afford. If they were in, they had to hustle.
Before Cliff could say more, Ronan jumped straight to business.