The city contest loomed closer with every sunrise, but for Kenji, the days blurred into one endless rehearsal. His guitar calloused his fingers raw. His throat burned with strain from drills that stretched long into the night. Yet each time exhaustion threatened to swallow him, the System reminded him why he couldn't stop.
> [Training Progress: Vocal Range - 62% Complete.]
[Breath Control - 48% Complete.]
[Lyric Resonance - Active.]
The numbers ticked upward like silent milestones, but what mattered wasn't the numbers, it was the change in him. His voice carried further now, steadier, rich in a way he barely recognized.
Still, no matter how hard he pushed, doubt sometimes whispered in the quiet moments. At lunch, at the corner store, on his walk home, he'd overhear students talking.
"Ryo's unstoppable. He's been training for years."
"And Kenji? He's just a viral fluke."
"People only like him because of that song, Chains."
The words cut, but Kenji didn't flinch anymore. If anything, they sharpened his resolve.
Haru, on the other hand, nearly burst a vein every time. "Tch...don't listen to those losers," he snapped one afternoon, throwing a juice box onto Kenji's desk. "They couldn't sing their way out of a shower drain if they tried. You're the one putting in the work, Kenji. You're the one I believe in."
Kenji smiled faintly. "Thanks, Haru."
But in truth, it wasn't just about proving doubters wrong. It was about proving himself right.
That night, the Virtual Studio pulsed awake once again. But this time, a new notification caught him off guard.
> [System Alert: Environment Expansion Unlocked.]
[Description: Choose a simulation environment for training. Available options: Concert Hall, Street Stage, Studio Booth.]
Kenji blinked. "Environment?"
The room around him shimmered, the plain black walls dissolving into options. A grand concert hall stretched before him, rows of velvet seats, dazzling lights, an endless stage. A crowded street stage flickered next, with people bustling past, some stopping, some ignoring him. Finally, a recording booth appeared, sealed tight with red walls and glass windows.
His heart hammered. This was more than practice. This was preparation for the world beyond school walls.
He chose the street stage.
The moment it materialized, he felt the shift. The murmur of strangers, the indifference of passersby, the weight of singing not to classmates or a friendly audience but to people who didn't care if he existed.
Kenji strummed the first chord. His voice rose into the air. At first, a few heads turned, then more. Some smiled, others just shrugged and moved on. The sting of indifference almost broke his focus, but he held firm. By the third verse, a small circle had gathered. A child clapped. A man dropped a coin into his open guitar case.
> [Street Stage Simulation Complete.]
[Result: Audience Retention - 72%. Emotional Impact - 65%.]
Kenji exhaled, wiping his brow. This wasn't the real city contest, but it felt close. Too close.
When the simulation faded, he collapsed onto his bed in the real world, sweat soaking his shirt. He didn't even notice the time until his phone buzzed.
A new message.
StarrySky: I can't wait to hear you at the contest. Don't lose, Kenji.
He stared at the words until they blurred. Somewhere out there, someone truly believed in him. Not Haru, not family, not even himself but someone who heard his voice and chose to stay.
The thought filled his chest with quiet fire.
The contest was only a week away. The whispers of doubt were growing louder, the pressure closing in like storm clouds. But Kenji wasn't the boy who once broke on stage.
No, this time, when the lights came down and the crowd held its breath, he'd make sure they couldn't look away.
The storm was coming, and Kenji Sato was ready to sing straight through it.