The venue for the semifinals was nothing like the cramped hall of the preliminaries.
Kenji stopped dead as he stepped through the side entrance, his breath catching in his throat. The stage towered over him, a vast ocean of light spilling across rows of seats that seemed to stretch forever. Screens hung above, amplifying the glow, ready to project every note and every trembling gesture to hundreds of eyes.
For a heartbeat, Kenji's chest tightened. His palms slicked with sweat, and for a fleeting moment, the old fear crept in, the memory of the boy who once froze before a crowd.
But then warmth pulsed at his throat, steady and solid. The skill he had unlocked after the prelims hummed like armor, wrapping around his voice.
> [Skill Activated: Vocal Reinforcement.]
[Effect: Increased stamina, stability, and projection.]
Kenji drew a breath, deeper than before, and let it out. The stage still looked enormous, but his body no longer shook.
"Kenji!" Haru's voice snapped him back. His best friend stood at his side, bouncing on his heels like an anxious fan rather than a spectator. "Look at this place! They could fit our whole school in here twice. And the judges, look, do you see them? That's one of the top producers in Tokyo!"
Kenji glanced toward the front row, where five judges sat behind a sleek table. Their expressions were unreadable, though the murmurs in the audience swirled around their presence.
"I'm not ready," Kenji whispered, though the steadiness of his voice betrayed the lie.
Haru gave him a shove. "Shut up. You're more ready than anyone here. Now go prove it."
Before Kenji could reply, the stage crew began herding contestants into a line. The semifinalists stood shoulder to shoulder, the air heavy with nerves. Ryo Tanaka stood a few places down, his posture razor-straight, eyes glinting with practiced arrogance. Jin Arakawa leaned against the wall with his guitar, calm as ever, as though the swelling crowd were no more intimidating than a park corner.
Kenji exhaled slowly. Rivals on both sides, the audience before him, and the weight of his own failures pressing from behind. There was no escaping this crucible.
The announcer's voice boomed across the speakers:
"Welcome to the City Youth Music Contest Semifinals! Tonight, ten contestants will compete for only three spots in the grand finals. Each performance will be judged on vocal mastery, stage presence, and emotional resonance. Let the contest begin!"
Cheers erupted, deafening. Kenji's name wasn't called yet, but even waiting felt like standing in the middle of a storm.
One by one, the first contestants took the stage. Some faltered, some soared, and Kenji listened, absorbing every note. His stomach twisted with each flawless run and each faltering voice. The bar was higher now.
Finally...
"Contestant twenty-four, Kenji Sato."
The lights swung onto him. The roar of the audience blurred into one overwhelming wave. Haru's voice pierced through faintly, shouting his name, but Kenji's ears were filled with the pounding of his own heart.
He stepped forward, guitar slung across his shoulder, the strap cutting into his nerves like a reminder of where he stood. The stage stretched out before him, vast and merciless.
He set his hand on the strings. Closed his eyes. Drew in a breath.
The System's glow flickered at the edge of his vision.
> [Semifinal Challenge Activated.]
[Objective: Place within the Top 3.]
[Bonus Objective: Score higher than Ryo Tanaka.]
Kenji's throat tightened. This wasn't just a performance, it was survival.
He opened with a soft strum, a quiet ripple through the stadium. The opening notes trembled in the air like raindrops on glass, fragile but deliberate. His voice followed, not loud, not showy, just raw.
"Running in the dark…
I lost my voice where no one could hear."
The words weren't from a famous song. They were his. A piece he had never dared finish, pulled from the scraps of notebooks buried in his drawer. It wasn't polished. It wasn't perfect. But it was his truth.
The spotlight narrowed as if the stage itself listened. The crowd hushed, leaning closer.
He pushed forward, his chest burning with every word.
"But now the silence breaks…
A rhythm rises inside me.
Even broken notes… can still be heard."
His voice cracked once, jagged against the smooth melody. But instead of shrinking from it, Kenji let it ring out. He remembered Jin's words--- sometimes imperfection is what reaches people.
And the crowd reacted. Gasps, then cheers. Their hands rose, clapping in rhythm to his strums, carried along not by perfection but by the weight of honesty.
His throat ached, but the reinforcement skill steadied him, carrying his tone beyond what his lungs alone could manage. The System pulsed with each note, syncing his body with the song.
> [Lyric Resonance Activated.]
[Effect: Audience emotional impact amplified.]
The spotlight blazed brighter, flaring in time with his words. For a heartbeat, Kenji wasn't on stage. He was standing in his bedroom, singing to the memory of the boy who had once failed, who had once trembled, who had once thought he would never belong here.
The last note stretched long and raw, burning into silence. His guitar fell quiet. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then the hall erupted. Applause thundered so loud it shook his bones. The judges leaned toward one another, whispering quickly, though Kenji couldn't read their faces.
He bowed slightly, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his forehead. His golden eyes shimmered faintly in the stage light as he whispered under his breath:
"I'll rise higher."
The System flickered once more.
> [Performance Complete.]
[Preliminary Judge Score Pending…]
Kenji walked offstage on legs that felt like water, but this time, he didn't feel small. He didn't feel like a shadow hiding from the crowd. He felt alive.
Backstage, Haru barreled into him, nearly crushing the guitar between them. "Kenji, you...you... you were insane! The whole hall was with you! Even the judges, did you see them lean in?"
Kenji could only laugh breathlessly, his voice hoarse but unbroken. "I didn't see anything."
But he felt it. And that was enough.
From the corner, Ryo's gaze burned into him like a blade. Jin, however, only smiled faintly, as though he'd expected nothing less.
Kenji wiped his forehead, gripping his guitar tighter. This wasn't the end. It was just the first strike in a storm of battles yet to come.