Zara's fingers flew across her keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration as she crafted the email. She'd promised Amias she would handle this, and she wasn't about to let him down. The subject line had to be perfect—sothing that would stand out in a crowded inbox without coming across as desperate spam.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Central Cee's cousin - Erging talent (Audio attached)
Dear Zel,
My na is Zara Okafor, and I'm reaching out on behalf of Amias Mars, a talented artist who happens to be Central Cee's cousin. Amias has recently begun his music career and is looking for a producer to work with on his upcoming projects.
He's been following your work for so ti and believes your production style would complent his sound perfectly. I've attached his debut track "I'm Tryna" for you to listen to. I think you'll agree that there's sothing special here.
Amias only started recording this month, and this is his first official track. Central Cee has been ntoring him, and there's already industry interest building.
If you're interested in collaborating, please let know, and we can discuss details. Amias is based in West London and is available for studio sessions at your convenience.
Thank you for your ti,
Zara Okafor
She attached the audio file, took a deep breath, and hit send. Now all they could do was wait.
—
Denzel Ikechukwu Ugoji—known professionally as Zel—sat in his East London apartnt, scrolling through Twitter while his latest beat played softly in the background. At twenty-four, he'd been producing for nearly a decade, starting with cracked FL Studio software on his older brother's laptop when he was just fifteen.
Those early days felt like a lifeti ago. Back then, he'd been a kid with big dreams, spending hours watching YouTube tutorials and deconstructing the instruntals of his favorite tracks. Now, he had credits on tracks that had charted in the UK top 40, a growing reputation in the London drill scene, and a dedicated studio space in his flat that had cost him more than he'd care to admit.
But despite his success, Zel felt restless. He'd been chasing the sa goal for years—to produce a genuine hit, sothing that would cent his na in the industry and open doors to the major labels. He'd co close several tis, but that breakthrough mont had remained elusive.
His phone buzzed with a notification. Another email. He almost ignored it—his inbox was constantly flooded with ssages from aspiring rappers looking for beats or asking for free production work. But sothing made him tap on the notification.
The subject line caught his eye imdiately: "Central Cee's cousin - Erging talent."
Zel snorted. Right. Another clout chaser trying to get his attention with fake connections. He'd seen it all before—artists claiming to be related to Stormzy or Dave or whoever was hot at the mont, hoping to get a foot in the door.
Still, curiosity got the better of him. He opened the email, scanning through the ssage quickly. It was well-written, at least—not the usual barely coherent text he typically received. And there was an audio file attached.
"Might as well," he muttered to himself, hitting play while expecting disappointnt.
The beat kicked in first—a solid drill production, nothing groundbreaking but competently done. Then the vocals started, and Zel found himself sitting up straighter. The flow was tight, the delivery confident. For soone who'd supposedly just started rapping, this was... impressive.
He played it again, this ti focusing on the lyrics. There was raw talent here, no question. The track wasn't perfectly mixed—the vocals sat a bit too far back in places, and the bass could use so refining—but the core elents were strong.
Zel pulled up Instagram, searching for Central Cee's profile. He scrolled through recent posts, looking for any sign of this supposed cousin. And there it was—a Story posted just yesterday: Central Cee in the studio, and in the background, this very track playing faintly. A younger guy was visible briefly, maybe sixteen or seventeen, nodding along to the beat.
"Well, damn," Zel muttered. Maybe this wasn't a scam after all.
He hit reply on the email, asking for a contact number. Within minutes, his phone pinged with a response containing a mobile number.
Without giving himself ti to overthink it, Zel opened WhatsApp and typed out a ssage:
Zel [09:42]: Yo, got your number from the email. This is Zel. Your track's cold. Let's talk.
The reply ca almost instantly:
Amias [09:43]: Zel? For real? Mad. Thanks for getting back to us
Zel [09:43]: Need to make sure you're legit. Mind if I FaceTi you quick?
Amias [09:44]: Yeah course. Ready when you are
Zel hit the FaceTi button, still half-expecting to see so thirty-year-old wannabe on the other end. Instead, the screen filled with the face of the sa young man he'd glimpsed in Central Cee's Story—dark skin, braids, warm dark brown eyes, and a cautious smile.
"Yo," the kid said, adjusting his phone. "This is mad. Can't believe you actually responded."
Zel studied him for a mont. "You're actually Central Cee's cousin?"
"Yeah, man. On my mum's side." The boy—Amias—seed almost embarrassed by the connection. "But I'm trying to make my own way. Not just riding coattails."
"Respect," Zel nodded. "So that track in the email—'I'm Tryna'—that's really you?"
"Yeah, that's ."
"When did you start rapping?"
Amias glanced away briefly. "Honestly? This month. That's my first proper track."
Zel went quiet, staring at the screen. "You're having on."
"Nah, I swear," Amias insisted. "I an, I've ssed around before, but that's the first full track I've laid down."
"First ever track?" Zel repeated, still processing this information. "And you wrote all those lyrics?"
"Yeah, man. All ."
Zel leaned back, running a hand over his face. If this kid was telling the truth, he was looking at serious raw talent. The kind that doesn't co along often.
"Alright," Zel said finally. "So what's the plan? You got studio ti booked?"
"Working on it," Amias replied. "My manager Zara's handling that side of things. We're looking at places now."
"Manager already?" Zel raised an eyebrow. "Moving fast."
Amias laughed. "Nah, she's my friend from school. She's just helping get organized."
"Smart move," Zel nodded. "Look, I can recomnd so studios in West London. Proper spaces, good rates. Once you're set up, I'll co through for a session. Six hours, we'll see what we can cook up."
"For real?" Amias's eyes widened. "That would be cold."
"Yeah, but I'm not doing this for free," Zel warned. "I get paid for my ti. We can discuss rates later."
"Course," Amias nodded quickly. "Wouldn't expect anything else."
They talked for another fifteen minutes, discussing influences, styles, and potential tracks. By the end, Zel had a good feeling about this kid. There was sothing genuine about him—hungry but not desperate, confident but not arrogant.
"Alright," Zel said as they wrapped up. "I'll send you those studio recomndations. Get back to when you've booked sothing."
"Will do. Thanks, Zel. For real."
The call ended, and Zel sat back in his chair, his mind racing. He opened his laptop and pulled up the audio file again, listening more critically this ti. The potential was undeniable. With proper production, this track could be sothing special.
He glanced at his bank account, wincing at the balance. The past few months had been lean—a couple of projects had fallen through, and he'd had to dip into his savings to cover rent. He couldn't afford to work for free, not even for a promising talent with industry connections.
But there was sothing about Amias that felt different.
Zel smiled to himself. Maybe this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. A chance to get in on the ground floor with an artist who could actually go sowhere. Central Cee's cousin or not, talent like that didn't co around every day.
He pulled up his calendar and blocked out ti for the next few weeks. Whatever studio Amias booked, whatever ti he needed, Zel would make it work. This could be the start of sothing big—for both of them.
As he turned back to the beat he'd been working on earlier, Zel found himself humming the hook from I'm Tryna. One month into rapping, and the kid already had hooks that stuck in your head. That wasn't just talent—that was a gift.
And Zel knew better than most how rare that was.
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