From A Producer To A Chapter 96: At Peace

Chapter 96: At Peace

That night felt longer than usual.

Dayo sat by his window, his mind heavy and his body tired. The lights from the city outside flickered across his face, but his eyes looked blank. He had too many thoughts, too many things to process — his uncle’s death, the pressure of the next round, and now Michael’s threat.

He didn’t know who to talk to. His friends would worry, and his parents were already going through too much. The last thing he wanted was to add more to their pain.

This was the most confused and pained he had been since he transmigrated to this world, although he knew life was not all rosy and all, but he felt tired and pressured by all this happening.

After sitting for a while, he picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. His finger stopped on one na — Luna.

He hesitated for a second, then called.

She picked up almost imdiately. "Dayo," her voice was soft, careful. "How are you doing?"

He sighed quietly. "I’m hanging in there."

"I heard about your uncle," she said. "I’m really sorry. I know how much he ant to you."

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

There was a short pause. Luna could tell sothing else was wrong. "You didn’t call just to talk about that, did you?"

He gave a small laugh. "You always see through ."

"So, what’s going on?" she asked.

"I need your advice," he said finally. "It’s... about Michael."

The tone in Luna’s voice changed. "What did he do this ti?"

Dayo explained everything — how Michael ca to et him in person, what he said, the threats, and the offer to sign with his label. He told her everything, word for word.

After all, Luna has been in the industry for close to ten years in this world so she could probably give him sothing.

Luna was silent for a while. Then she said, "Dayo, listen to

carefully. Michael isn’t just another record boss. He has power — real power. I’ve seen him end careers like they were nothing. If he says he can stop you from reaching the finals, he probably can."

Dayo leaned back, rubbing his forehead. "So, what do I do then? Just give in?"

Luna sighed. "I can’t tell you what to do. But I’ll tell you this — if you fight him, it won’t be easy. You might lose. But if you don’t fight, you’ll lose sothing bigger — yourself."

Her words stayed with him. She continued softly, "You’ve co this far because you followed your heart. Don’t stop now. Do what you believe is right, no matter how hard it looks."

He smiled faintly. "You always know what to say."

"That’s because I know you," she said. "You’re stronger than you think."

"Thanks, Luna," he said quietly. "I really needed that."

"Anyti," she replied.

When the call ended, the room felt quiet again. Dayo placed his phone beside him and stared at the ceiling. He thought about everything — Michael’s words, Luna’s advice, his uncle’s mory. And finally, his past life of being unable to pursue his dreams.

He couldn’t sleep. His mind was running in circles.

Around 2 a.m., he got up, threw on a jacket, and left his room. The studio was quiet, the lights dim, but he knew the night staff would let him in.

He walked inside, sat by the mic, and looked at the empty booth.

He already knew what he was going to do.

He was going to record the song that spoke for his heart — not for the judges, not for the label, but for himself.

He sat down for hours and poured what was in himself out, and after ti went on, he smiled, satisfied by what he had created and sent a quick ssage to Luna.

After recording through most of the night, Dayo finally went back to his room around dawn. He lay down without even changing clothes. His eyes closed almost instantly, and for the first ti in days, he slept deeply.

When he woke up, the sun was already bright. His head felt lighter, his chest calr. He sat up, stretched, and stared at the ceiling for a while before standing up to take a shower. The cool water ran down his face, washing away so of the stress he had been carrying.

He felt different — not happy, but at peace.

Later that morning, he joined the other contestants for breakfast. The dining area was busy, full of chatter and laughter, but sohow it all sounded far away to him. He greeted a few people and sat beside Min-Jae, who was already halfway through his al.

Min-Jae looked at him and smiled. "You look better today, bro. You finally slept?"

"Yeah," Dayo said. "I needed that."

They ate quietly for a while. Then Min-Jae leaned closer and whispered. "You know, I heard sothing weird. They said Michael’s been talking to the organizers — sothing about how if you don’t sign with him, you won’t make it to the finals."

Dayo paused for a second. He looked surprised that Min-Jae knew this, but he knew this was probably part of his plans, then smiled faintly. "Yeah. I already know."

Min-Jae frowned. "So, what are you going to do?"

Dayo looked at his tray, then back up. "Nothing," he said softly. "I’ve made my choice. Whatever happens, happens."

Min-Jae studied him for a mont. There was sothing different about Dayo now — a calmness he hadn’t seen before, like soone who had already made peace with the storm around him.

"Bro," Min-Jae said quietly, "you sure you’re okay?"

Dayo nodded. "I am. I really am."

The rest of the morning went by fast. Everyone moved to the bus that would take them to the Capital One Arena, one of Washington’s biggest event halls — the place where stars were made or forgotten.

The ride was quiet. The air felt heavy. Everyone could feel the pressure. These were no longer underdogs; everyone left was a powerhouse from their country.

Backstage, the staff moved around quickly — checking sound, caras, and lights. The contestants waited in line, so pacing, others stretching or humming to themselves.

One by one, the perforrs went up — Emily sang a soft ballad, Min-Jae perford a bright pop track that got the crowd cheering, and another contestant, Misha, played an upbeat dance number that had people clapping along.

Then it was quiet again.

The host stepped forward with a smile.

"Next contestant, please... Dayo."

Dayo stood up slowly and walked towards the stage. His heart didn’t race this ti. He just took a deep breath, looked toward the stage, and started walking.

He already knew what he was going to sing.