After the Powerpuff Boys' audition, the pace finally picked up.
And along the way, there were plenty of notable standouts.
For the first time, the trainees of LEAVEN finally encountered the entity known as...
Ahn Jae.
And let's just say...
They were not particularly thrilled about meeting him.
Not because they didn't like him.
Quite the opposite.
They were thrilled.
Terrified thrilled.
Even the trainees who were already part of the debut lineup started shaking their heads in disbelief.
Because...
What the actual fuck?
The man had just belted out a high note so effortlessly that it looked like he could've gone even higher.
But he deliberately stopped.
Because going any higher would've ruined the song.
That's the kind of vocal monster Ahn Jae was.
The beast had been caged for far too long.
And now?
The cage was open.
And that motherfucker was hungry.
"WHOo! Let's go, Hyung!" August cheered loudly.
He practically looked like the proudest little brother in the building.
"Ahhh!"
"How can he sing so good?!"
Kang Ian chuckled.
"Ahn Jae has always been good at singing."
"GenPro just wasn't interested in showing it."
August immediately groaned.
"Ahhh! Ian hyung!"
"Stop talking about that show already!"
"It's just making me upset!"
And Ahn Jae wasn't the only one making waves.
There was Bobby, who everybody already knew could absolutely demolish a song.
Aqua, the resident siren of the Kweens, who could probably seduce a note into sounding better.
Mika, singing like tomorrow wasn't guaranteed.
Isaac, whose raw emotional delivery had several trainees staring at the stage like they were watching something far more personal than an audition.
Zen.
Mikko.
Toma.
Liam.
Jeremiah.
All of them were holding their own.
And they weren't letting the debut members simply walk in and collect all the glory.
This wasn't a courtesy performance.
This wasn't a participation trophy parade.
It was a battlefield.
A battlefield made entirely of vocal cords.
And then...
Finally.
Last but certainly not least...
It was Monarch's turn.
The trainee everyone had been waiting for.
The undisputed number one vocalist of LEAVEN.
Who decided that?
Absolutely nobody.
There had never been an official announcement.
No ranking.
No committee.
No crown.
It was simply a silent agreement that had formed among the trainees.
Even Foca had to admit it.
Monarch's vocals were on another level.
Unfortunately...
Today, the supposed final boss had spawned with a debuff.
"It's finally Monarch's turn," one trainee muttered.
Porsche glanced toward the stage.
"Too bad."
"Out of all the times to get the flu..."
His lips curled slightly.
"It had to be now."
There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
And Porsche wasn't the only one feeling relieved.
Even some of Monarch's fellow debut members felt it.
Because if the final boss was sick...
Well...
That meant everyone else had just a slightly better chance of stealing one of those coveted parts.
Was it an ugly feeling?
Absolutely.
Did they feel guilty about it?
Some of them did.
But...
This was a competition.
And as the saying went...
All was fair in love and war.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk."
The trainees heard someone clicking their tongue beside them.
They turned.
Leo.
He looked more serious than ever.
His eyes remained fixed on Monarch as the sick trainee slowly made his way toward the stage.
"Y'all are trippin' if you think just because that monster is sick, his power got nerfed."
A few trainees exchanged looks.
Leo continued.
"Monarch might be giga-nerfed this patch..."
He crossed his arms.
"But that doesn't mean he can't still turbo-mog everybody here."
"...What?"
Leo didn't even blink.
"It just goes to show."
"No one can power creep that bastard."
He said it with the absolute conviction of a man discussing a video game balance update.
The other trainees stared at him.
Some looked confused.
Some looked concerned.
One looked like he was genuinely wondering if Leo had finally snapped.
Because, objectively...
Monarch was sick.
He was burning with a fever.
His nose was clogged.
His throat was probably wrecked.
He'd been coughing nonstop.
His vocal cords were nowhere near optimal condition.
There was only so much power he could possibly squeeze out of himself today.
"Man..."
D.vil scoffed.
"Sometimes it's okay to admit you're wrong, y'know."
D.vil was one of Porsche's so-called friends.
And just looking at him...
You could tell.
Try-hard edgelord.
The kind of dude who probably introduced himself with his username instead of his actual name.
Leo nodded.
"I agree."
A beat.
"But I'm not going to be the one admitting it."
Porsche snorted.
D.vil snickered.
The rest of their little crew followed.
Abbadon simply shrugged.
"Well..."
"Suit yourself."
And honestly...
What the fuck are these stage names?
Porsche.
D.vil.
Abbadon.
What is this?
A boy band or the rejected cast of an edgy anime where everyone wears fingerless gloves?
These names are giving:
"Straight male who discovered Nietzsche at fourteen and never emotionally recovered."
Severe case of eighth-grade syndrome.
Somebody get these boys a thesaurus and a hug.
Meanwhile...
The actual final boss was stepping onto the stage.
****
Anyway...
Back to the people who actually matter.
Monarch now stood on the stage.
And he looked paler than he'd ever looked before.
"Monarch, are you sick?" Luca asked.
Granted, it was painfully obvious.
But Luca still needed to hear it directly from Monarch himself.
"Just a slight flu."
"Nothing major."
Monarch gave them a reassuring smile.
"Please don't worry. It's manageable."
It was an absolutely blatant lie.
Monarch was not okay.
Just walking from his seat to the center of the stage had nearly made him faint.
His skin was pale.
The fever patch was still stuck to his forehead.
His nose was congested.
His breathing was heavier than usual.
And his voice?
Raspy as hell.
But his eyes...
His eyes were determined.
And every single evaluator saw it.
They could feel it.
Which put them in an incredibly difficult position.
On one hand, they wanted to immediately send him to the medical team.
This wasn't something they should just ignore.
The man looked like he needed a bed, several blankets, and approximately seventeen gallons of water.
But on the other hand...
If they stopped him now, would they be disrespecting his resolve?
Would they be telling an artist that his determination didn't matter?
Foca, in particular, found himself conflicted.
Because he understood that stubbornness.
He'd done the exact same thing himself.
There had been times when Foca had pushed himself to his absolute limits for his art, even when he was sick.
Was it healthy?
Probably not.
Was it smart?
Absolutely not.
Would he do it again?
...Probably.
So he couldn't exactly stand there and lecture Monarch about pushing himself when he'd once done the same thing.
Foca sighed.
Concern was still written all over his face.
But he ultimately decided to respect the artist standing in front of him.
"Okay..."
He nodded.
"What part will you be singing?"
Monarch answered without hesitation.
"I'll be singing the first and second parts of the bridge."
A ripple of murmurs traveled through the room.
The bridge had already been chosen by several trainees.
But there was only one other person who had specifically chosen to sing just the bridge.
Isaac.
And there was a reason for that.
The bridge wasn't special because it contained some ridiculous high note.
It wasn't a section designed for vocal gymnastics.
There was no opportunity to stand there and belt your lungs out just to prove how powerful your voice was.
What made the bridge special...
Was emotion.
The delivery.
The sincerity.
The ability to make the audience feel something.
You could have the most powerful voice in the room, but if you couldn't make the words mean something...
The bridge would expose you.
And that was exactly why everyone was surprised.
Monarch was known as the vocal powerhouse.
If anyone could've chosen a section where he could unleash some monstrous high note...
It was him.
Yet he deliberately chose the part that demanded vulnerability.
Foca's curiosity immediately intensified.
Maybe there was more to Monarch's voice than power.
Maybe this was a side of him nobody had really seen yet.
He leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Okay."
"Please begin whenever you're ready."
Monarch nodded.
He took a deep breath.
Then quietly said a prayer.
He made the sign of the cross.
And then...
He sang.
🎶 Chasing the dream, no stopping
Through pain and hardship, we're fighting 🎶
And just like that...
Goosebumps.
Literal goosebumps.
The kind that spread from your arms all the way down your spine.
Everyone in the studio felt it.
Foca's expression changed immediately.
There was something about Monarch's voice.
Something deeply sincere.
He wasn't simply singing the lyrics.
He sounded like he was living them.
Several trainees were staring at him with their mouths slightly open.
Because suddenly...
The lyrics made sense.
🎶 Eyes set on tomorrow's light
Hearts burning ever bright
We're dancing on cloud nine tonight 🎶
And somehow...
Miraculously...
Monarch didn't cough.
Not once.
It was almost as if even his flu had stopped to listen.
The cough sat quietly in the corner of his lungs like:
"I'll allow it."
Because interrupting this performance would genuinely be criminal.
Monarch felt strangely comfortable.
He knew he was sick.
He knew he was exhausted.
He knew there was a very real possibility that his legs could give out at any moment.
But none of that mattered right now.
All he could think about was continuing.
Singing.
Moving forward.
Because somehow...
Stopping felt more painful than the flu.
So he pushed.
And pushed.
And pushed.
The veins in his neck began to visibly bulge.
His breathing grew heavier.
Every note was costing him more than the audience realized.
But he kept going.
🎶 Nothing can steal away our light
Shouting from the top of our lungs
The future has only begun 🎶
And then...
During "Shouting from the top of our lungs,"...
His voice faltered.
Just slightly.
It was almost impossible to notice.
Monarch immediately compensated for it, smoothing the note over so beautifully that most of the trainees never realized anything had happened.
But Monarch knew.
He felt it.
And so did Foca.
And Robin.
Their ears were too trained to miss something like that.
Monarch finished the final line.
And then...
Silence.
Complete silence.
The kind where nobody even remembers to breathe.
The trainees were too stunned to speak.
Leo slowly turned toward Porsche and his little crew.
"Hate to say it..."
He paused.
"But..."
"I told you so."
He sounded unbearably smug.
Not gonna lie.
He had earned that one.
Eli stared at the stage in disbelief.
"What a fucking monster."
Jordan immediately glanced at him.
"I wouldn't call Monarch a monster."
A pause.
"But yes."
"He is exceptionally good at singing."
Because apparently even in the middle of a transcendent vocal performance, Jordan still had to make sure everyone's terminology was technically correct.
Luca, however, wasn't looking at the performance anymore.
He was looking at Monarch.
"Monarch..."
"You okay, bud?"
Because Monarch had lowered his head.
His shoulders were trembling slightly.
He was furiously wiping at his face.
Tears.
Hot, stubborn tears.
He kept wiping them away before they could fall.
"Yeah..."
"I'm good."
His voice cracked slightly as he sniffed.
"I'm good..."
He tried to steady himself.
Tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
Tried to pretend nobody had noticed.
Tuesday wasn't buying it.
"No."
Her expression softened.
"I don't think you are."
She leaned forward.
"Why are you crying?"
****
"I-I don't wanna make any excuses."
Monarch shook his head, still trying to wipe away the tears before anyone could see them.
Tuesday's expression softened.
"Oh, honey..."
"If there's anyone here who's legitimately allowed to make excuses, it's you."
She gestured toward him.
"And what exactly are you making excuses for?"
"You did great."
Monarch took a shaky breath.
"I-it's just..."
He swallowed.
"It's frustrating."
"I know I can do better."
"I know I can do so much better."
His voice trembled.
"And not being able to..."
He stopped for a moment, struggling to put the feeling into words.
"It's just really frustrating because I wanna do good."
"I don't wanna disappoint you guys."
"And after what I just showed you..."
He looked down.
"I felt like I did."
And then...
The coughing came back.
With a vengeance.
Monarch doubled over as a rough coughing fit tore through him.
Tuesday's eyes widened.
"Monarch."
She waited until he could breathe again.
"I'm going to stop you right there."
She sounded genuinely incredulous.
"I know you can do better."
"I know."
"Because I've heard you when you're at one hundred percent."
"But what you did today?"
She pointed toward the stage.
"That isn't less."
"Could you have done better?"
"Maybe."
"And honestly?"
"I don't care."
Monarch looked up.
"What you just did was miles better than some of the performances we heard today."
She leaned forward.
"And I'm not saying that to make you feel better."
"I'm saying it because it's a fact."
Monarch listened.
He really did.
But accepting it?
That was another story.
Because deep down, that voice in his head was still there.
You could've done better.
You know you could.
You weren't at your best.
You weren't good enough.
Luca noticed the hesitation on his face.
"Why are you being so hard on yourself, Monarch?"
He tilted his head.
"I feel like you're not really letting yourself accept what Tuesday just told you."
"And she's literally complimenting you."
Monarch looked down at his hands.
"I..."
He hesitated.
"I don't wanna be seen as someone who's slacking off."
"Or someone who's doing the bare minimum just because I'm already part of the debut lineup."
"I don't want people thinking I got comfortable."
Foca's expression changed.
There was still warmth in his eyes.
But his voice became firmer.
"That's a great mindset, Monarch."
"But only when you're not putting your own well-being at risk."
Monarch looked at him.
Foca continued.
"As the person you've entrusted with your dreams..."
He paused.
"It is my responsibility to make sure that you get to live the dream you've entrusted to me."
His voice was gentle.
But there was no room for argument.
"So I'm telling you this now."
"You have done more than enough to prove to the world that you deserve your place in that debut lineup."
Monarch's eyes began to water again.
"Now..."
Foca pointed toward the exit.
"Go to the medic."
"And get as much rest as you possibly can."
He gave Monarch a knowing look.
"Because I know you're stubborn enough to try taking the dance auditions this afternoon anyway."
A few trainees snickered quietly.
Monarch looked away.
He'd been caught.
"If you're going to audition despite your condition..."
Foca sighed.
"Then at least rest until then."
And then Foca delivered the final blow.
"You genuinely did excellent today, Monarch."
"You should be proud."
Monarch stared at him.
For a few seconds, he didn't say anything.
Then he bowed deeply.
"Thank you..."
His voice was small.
But sincere.
"Thank you, guys."
The voices in his head were still there.
Telling him he hadn't done enough.
Telling him he could've been better.
Telling him that maybe he hadn't earned the praise.
But for once...
Monarch chose to listen to the people he respected.
And they were telling him he did well.
For now...
That was enough.
The medical team soon came over and gently ushered him away.
And, much to Monarch's dismay, there was no negotiating.
He was escorted straight to the medical area for much-needed rest, IV fluids, and a bed.
A bed.
His greatest enemy.
Meanwhile, the trainees were left behind, murmuring among themselves.
"If he says he could've done better..."
Ramon stared blankly at the stage.
"Then what the hell does that make the rest of us?"
Caelan shook his head.
"He just told me how untalented I am."
He rubbed his face.
"Like, bruh..."
Lan slowly nodded.
"Filipino throat chakra is really something else, huh?"
The other two nodded solemnly.
Meanwhile, Leo was having a completely different crisis.
He stared into the middle distance.
"How does one acquire the Filipino throat chakra?"
He scratched his chin.
"Can it be learned?"
A pause.
"Is it hereditary?"
Another pause.
"Is there a skill tree?"
The answer, Leo...
Is yes.
Just...
Yes.
Meanwhile, Isaac sat quietly.
He couldn't help but smile.
A happy smile.
A slightly bitter one.
But a happy one nonetheless.
"Monarch..."
"You really outdid yourself, buddy."
Isaac had deliberately chosen the bridge because he knew what he could bring to it.
Emotion.
That was his gift.
His innate strength.
When he sang the bridge, he'd poured hope into every word because that's what he genuinely felt.
To Isaac, the song was about believing in the future.
About looking forward.
About chasing something even when the road was difficult.
But Monarch had shown him something else.
Something completely different.
The same words...
But another emotion.
Desperation.
Monarch hadn't sung the bridge like someone standing confidently at the beginning of their journey.
He'd sung it like someone who was already exhausted...
Already hurting...
Already on the verge of collapsing...
Yet still refusing to stop.
And to Isaac...
It was beautiful.
He'd never thought about the bridge that way before.
It made him feel something strange.
A little bitter.
Because Isaac knew himself well enough to understand that, as he was right now, he couldn't produce that particular emotion.
Not yet.
He didn't have that color in his voice.
Not yet.
But instead of letting that bitterness consume him...
Isaac smiled.
Because now he had something to look forward to.
One day...
He wanted to be able to express that kind of emotion too.
To take the same words and make people feel something completely different.
To make someone else sit there with goosebumps crawling across their skin, wondering how a song they'd heard a hundred times could suddenly feel brand new.
Isaac looked toward the direction Monarch had been taken.
"Next time..."
He smiled faintly.