My entertainment kingdom

Chapter 3: A New Dawn (Continued)

The bell's shrill ring was abruptly silenced by the entrance of the Physics teacher, a stern-looking woman with spectacles perched on her nose. The classroom, which moments before had buzzed with excited chatter, instantly fell silent. The sudden hush was almost palpable, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy that had filled the room just seconds before.

The teacher, without preamble, began her lecture on the intricacies of Newtonian physics. She spoke with a precise, measured tone, her words carefully chosen, her explanations meticulously detailed. Diagrams appeared on the whiteboard, equations filled the space between lines of text, and complex concepts were broken down into smaller, more manageable pieces.

However, despite the teacher's best efforts, Asher's mind remained elsewhere. He found himself drifting back to his conversation with Andrei, replaying their exchange in his head. Andrei's words echoed in his ears—"You have a gift, man. Don't waste it."—and the image of Andrei's enthusiastic grin remained vivid in his mind. The possibility of actually sharing his music, of seeing his song reach a wider audience, filled him with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

The teacher's voice faded into the background, becoming a dull drone that barely registered in his consciousness. He found himself lost in thought, envisioning the process of recording his song, the collaboration with Andrei, the potential success on Vitube. He imagined the comments, the likes, the shares… the possibility of connecting with people through his music, of touching their hearts and minds with the raw emotion he had poured into his song.

He sketched out a rough plan in his mind, outlining the steps he needed to take: arrange a time to meet Andrei, borrow his equipment, practice the song until he felt confident, record it, mix it, and finally, upload it to Vitube. The task seemed daunting at first, but the thought of sharing his music fueled his determination. He felt a surge of energy, a renewed sense of purpose.

The class continued, but Asher remained largely oblivious to the teacher's lecture. He was lost in his own world, a world of music, of creativity, of dreams yet to be realized. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the first class, he felt a sense of relief, but also a sense of anticipation. The day had just begun, and the possibility of collaboration loomed large. He was ready to take the next step.

The morning dragged on. Asher's mind remained stubbornly detached from the lessons, flitting between the mundane explanations of his teachers and the exciting possibilities of his collaboration with Andrei. History, Math, and even English—subjects he usually found somewhat engaging—failed to capture his attention. His thoughts were consumed by the melody of his song, the potential of Vitube, and the prospect of working with Andrei. He doodled musical notes in the margins of his notebooks, the rhythm of his song a persistent undercurrent to the lectures.

Finally, the much-anticipated lunch break arrived. Asher immediately began his search for Andrei, his mind buzzing with anticipation. He needed to talk to him, to solidify their plans, to get started on this exciting new venture. He scanned the crowded cafeteria, his eyes searching for Andrei's distinctive emo style amidst the sea of students.

He spotted him near the back, sitting alone at a table, nursing a tray of food. But something was wrong. Asher noticed it immediately—a dark bruise blooming on Andrei's lip, a stark contrast to his usually pale skin. It looked fresh, as if inflicted recently. Andrei was quiet, his usual intensity muted, a shadow clouding his usually vibrant expression. The dark circles under his eyes seemed deeper than usual, adding to the overall air of weariness.

Asher approached cautiously, his earlier excitement tempered by concern. He pulled up a chair opposite Andrei. "Andrei," he said softly, his voice laced with worry. "What happened to your lip?"

Andrei looked up, startled by Asher's presence. He touched his bruised lip gingerly, a grimace twisting his features. "Oh, this?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just a… little accident."

Asher wasn't convinced. The bruise was too prominent, too clearly the result of a blow. "An accident?" he questioned gently. "It looks like someone punched you."

Andrei hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "Some guys… they didn't like me." He didn't elaborate, his eyes downcast. The unspoken words hung heavy between them, a silent testament to a conflict Asher could only imagine.

The excitement over the song, the plans for recording, seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a deep concern for his newfound friend. The carefree optimism of the morning was overshadowed by a sudden, unsettling reality. The lunch break, which had begun with such promise, now felt heavy with unspoken tension and the lingering scent of violence. The path ahead, once clear and exciting, now seemed shrouded in uncertainty.

After the moment of silence after he satdown besides andrei he began to talked and asked andrei

"So," he began, trying to sound casual, "what's your take on the whole music industry scene?"

Andrei, still a little shaken but visibly relaxing, leaned back in his chair. "Bland," he said, the word barely a whisper. "Monotonous. Predictable. Tedious. Derivative. Uninspired. It's a wasteland of recycled ideas and manufactured pop stars," he elaborated, pushing his food around on his plate. "Utterly devoid of originality. It's like they're all churning out the same soulless garbage, trying to appeal to the lowest common denominator." He sighed, shaking his head. "It's suffocating."

Asher nodded, finding himself agreeing with Andrei's assessment. They fell into a lively discussion, dissecting the industry's shortcomings. They talked about the lack of genuine talent, the overwhelming corporate influence, the stifling of artistic expression, and the depressing predictability of the charts. Their shared frustration created a bond, their conversation flowing easily, building to a crescendo of mutual understanding. Just as their discussion was reaching its peak, a voice cut through the air.

"Hey there, you are!"

The casual greeting, seemingly innocuous, hung in the air, a jarring interruption that abruptly silenced their passionate exchange. Both Asher and Andrei were stunned, their words caught in their throats, their shared frustration replaced by a wave of surprise and apprehension. The familiar sounds of the cafeteria faded into the background as they both turned to see who had spoken, their earlier conversation abruptly cut short, the atmosphere shifting from one of shared understanding to one of uncertainty and unease.

The voice belonged to Mark, Asher's longtime bully. His presence cast a shadow over the lunchtime conversation, the casual greeting a thinly veiled attempt at intimidation. Asher, his earlier good mood completely gone, met Mark's gaze with a steely stare. "What do you want, Mark?" he asked, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. The casual friendliness of their previous conversation evaporated, replaced by a palpable tension that hung heavy in the air.

Mark smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Just checking in on my favorite crybaby," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still writing your pathetic little songs?"

The casual insult was a deliberate provocation, designed to unsettle Asher. But Asher refused to be baited. "At least I have something to do besides terrorizing people," he retorted, his voice low and dangerous. The insult was a direct hit, aimed at Mark's core insecurity.

Mark's smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine anger. "Oh, you think you're so tough now, huh?" he spat, his voice rising in volume. "I bet your little songs are as pathetic as you are."

"At least my songs have more substance than your empty threats," Asher shot back, his voice steady despite the rising tension. The insult was a calculated risk, a bold move to assert his dominance.

The exchange escalated, each retort sharper, each insult more pointed. The surrounding students, sensing the volatile atmosphere, fell silent, their attention riveted on the two boys. The air crackled with unspoken threats, the tension palpable enough to be felt physically. Mark's face was contorted with rage, his fists clenched, ready to strike. Asher stood his ground, his eyes blazing with defiance, refusing to back down. The confrontation was reaching a boiling point, a physical altercation seeming imminent...

Then, the bell rang, a shrill interruption that cut through the charged atmosphere like a knife. The sudden sound broke the spell, the impending violence momentarily suspended. Students began to rise from their seats, the tension slowly dissipating as the bell signaled the end of the lunch break and the beginning of the next class. The confrontation remained unresolved, the unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air, a promise of future conflict.

Mark, his face still flushed with anger, stormed off, leaving Asher and Andrei in the aftermath of the heated confrontation. The tension in the air was palpable, the lingering scent of aggression still hanging heavy. Andrei, his eyes wide with concern, broke the silence.

"Dude, that was close!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mixture of relief and disbelief. "That was a real fight waiting to happen." He paused, his gaze lingering on Asher, his concern evident. "You know, with that… physique of yours, can you really take on someone like Mark?"

The question, though phrased with concern, was laced with a hint of doubt. It was a question that many had asked Asher, a question that had always stung. Andrei, despite his genuine concern, had inadvertently touched on a sensitive point, a point that Asher had always tried to ignore.

The question was like an arrow, hitting the mark with a painful accuracy. It was true. Asher was overweight, a fact that Mark had always used to his advantage. He was bigger, stronger, and more physically imposing. But the insult wasn't the weight itself, but the implication that it made him weak, that it rendered him incapable of defending himself.

Asher felt a surge of anger, not at Andrei, but at the unfairness of it all. He was not afraid of Mark. He was not afraid of a fight. He was not afraid of getting hurt. He was not afraid of losing. He was not afraid of anything. He was tired of being underestimated, tired of being bullied, tired of being seen as less than.

He clenched his fists, the anger fueling a determination that burned like a fire. He might be overweight, but he was not weak. He might not be the biggest or the strongest, but he was not afraid. He would fight, even if it meant breaking every tooth in his mouth. He would fight until the end, until he had proven that he was not the meek, helpless victim that Mark saw him as. He would fight, not for victory, but for the right to be seen, to be heard, to be respected. He would fight for his dignity, for his right to be himself, for the right to be more than just the fat kid.

The bell already rang twice, signaling the end of the lunch break, but Asher barely registered the sound. He was lost in his own thoughts, his mind ablaze with a newfound determination. He might be overweight, but he was not weak. He would prove it. He would show them all. He would fight.

1 PM: Asher, back in his classroom, stared out the window, a whirlwind of to-dos swirling in his head. His music project loomed large.

First, the electric piano. He'd asked Andrei, and thankfully, Andrei had one. That was a hurdle cleared.

Next, practice. He needed to perfect the song, ensuring every note was just right. Hours of dedicated practice lay ahead.

Then came recording. He'd need to find a quiet space, set up his equipment, and capture a clean, professional-sounding track.

Editing followed. This was where the magic happened, refining the raw recording, removing imperfections, and adding any necessary effects.

Uploading. He'd need to choose a platform, create an account, and carefully upload his masterpiece.

Promotion was crucial. He needed to spread the word, getting his music heard by as many people as possible. Social media, maybe?

Finally, the name. The perfect title, something catchy and memorable, to encapsulate the essence of his song. This felt like the most daunting task of all. He needed something that would make people stop scrolling and listen.