Once Louie had finished signing — with a signature that was, unmistakably, deeply, unapologetically Italian in its dramatic flourish and general commitnt to making a statent on paper — everything was officially, legally, completely settled.
Contracts signed. Terms understood. At least on Louie's side. Mikko's side had been handled in approximately thirty seconds with a smiley face and zero regrets, and we have all made our peace with that.
The 4 of Scones — all six of them, because the math was the math and nobody was addressing it yet — migrated to the lush velvet couches and settled in with the comfortable ease of people who had just been through sothing and were ready for whatever ca next.
Nikola looked around the group.
Then raised his hand with the energy of a man who had been sitting on a very valid, very specific observation and could no longer in good conscience keep it to himself.
"So are we still called 4 of Scones," he said, "when we now have six mbers?"
Every head turned to Foca.
Because yes. The math. The math was not mathing. The math had not mathed from the mont the second contract was signed and nobody had said anything about it until right now.
"The na stays," Foca said, with the calm simplicity of a man who had already thought about this and arrived sowhere comfortable. "It's been trademarked already."
Which was, objectively, a completely valid answer.
The awkward arithtic of it, however, remained present in the room. Acknowledged by everyone. Addressed by nobody further. Sotis you just live with the math.
"Now," Foca said, and the warmth in his voice stayed exactly where it always was — but underneath it, sothing with weight. The kind of tone that politely but very clearly communicated that full attention was the only acceptable response, unless soone wanted to be personally yeeted into the Mariana Trench or deposited in the Bermuda Triangle, neither of which were on anyone's agenda today.
Hyouka moved.
Sheet music, distributed. One to each mber, efficient and unhurried, landing in six sets of hands simultaneously.
Everyone looked down.
Healthy Ego.
That was the title.
And before the mont had even fully settled — Nox was already reading. Already humming, low and quiet, his eyes tracking the notation with the focused ease of soone for whom this had long since stopped being a task and simply beco instinct. The others weren't far behind — each one moving through the music in their own way, the months of LEAVEN training having quietly, permanently rewired them all into people who could pick up sheet music and hear it without needing to be told to.
The room filled with the soft, overlapping sounds of six people discovering a song for the first ti.
"Damn, boss man," Nikola said, looking up at Foca with a smirk that said everything his words were about to confirm. "You really cooked with this one."
"Thank you, Nikola," Foca said. "I agree, actually. This song is one of the ones that sits closest to my heart."
"I love that it's giving self love and self awareness," Louie said, still looking at the sheet music, turning a page with the careful hands of soone treating it like sothing worth respecting. "But it's not soft about it. It oozes confidence. It's bold." He looked up. "And it's not every day that a group of guys gets to stand on a stage and sing about loving themselves, being secure in who they are — without getting imdiately branded as cocky or a pretentious ass for it."
The nods around the group were imdiate and genuine.
Because he wasn't wrong.
The world had a complicated relationship with n expressing confidence without aggression, self-love without performance, security without posturing. It was a tightrope. And this song — from the first pass through it — felt like it had been written by soone who understood exactly where that line was and had drawn sothing beautiful right along the edge of it.
"So," Mikko said, looking up with that particular brightness in his eyes that ant his brain had fully engaged and had things to say, "when do we start?"
****
"There's a whole section with no lyrics," Isaac said, brow furrowing slightly as he turned a page, finger tracing the blank staff lines with the careful attention of soone who noticed things and said so.
"That's the rap section," Foca said. "I'll be honest — rap writing is not where my strengths live. So I'd rather let the people who actually know what they're doing create those verses themselves. And I happen to know that most of you are very well versed in writing them."
"IT'S MY TI," Mikko said, sitting up with the sudden, blazing energy of a man whose mont had arrived. "Finally. FINALLY. The world gets to witness my poetic side—"
"Okay, Shakespeare," Leo said. "Settle."
"I will not settle, Leo, this is my DESTINY—"
"Mikko."
"...Settling."
Nox, who had been reading through the sheet music with his characteristic quiet focus, looked up.
"Sir — may I ask why you chose to give this to us specifically?" His voice was asured, genuine. "From the lyrics alone, I can tell this song is sothing personal. Sothing significant. You clearly want it perford — but the question is where. And why us."
"Good question," Foca said. And ant it.
He set his tea down.
"I wrote this song with my eldest brother in mind," he said. "Every line of it. It depicts who he is — what he believes about himself, about confidence, about moving through the world with your head exactly where it belongs." He looked around the group, unhurried. "I gave it to you six because I couldn't think of anyone who embodies what this song is saying more than you do. Collectively. Individually. You fit it."
The silence that followed was the warm kind.
Because that landed sowhere real in all six of them — the specific weight of being looked at by soone whose opinion carried genuine aning, and being told you are the right ones for this. It did sothing to a person's chest. Hit them straight in the feels, every single one of them, without exception.
"My brother and his wife are celebrating their wedding anniversary," Foca continued. "Their annual celebration banquet. And that is where you will perform this song. In front of his family, his guests, his world." A pause. "In front of the person who inspired it into existence."
The weight settled a little heavier.
Not in a way that crushed. In a way that clarified.
This wasn't just a performance. This was Foca handing them sothing he'd built from sowhere personal, trusting them to carry it into a room full of the people who mattered most to him, and deliver it to the man who had lived it.
Tall order didn't even begin to cover it.
"Boss man," Nikola said, the smirk settling into sothing more genuine underneath, "that is one hell of a tall order. But you ca to exactly the right guys."
"The fucker is absolutely right," Mikko said, nodding with full conviction. "Sir, with respect, you could not have picked a more perfect six people for this. We've got you."
"We will make sure you are not disappointed," Isaac said, and the directness of it made it land clean and solid. No performance. Just a promise.
"We will make you proud," Nox said simply.
Which was, from Nox, everything.
Foca's smile arrived the way it always did — quietly, completely, without announcent.
"I don't think I was mistaken," he said.
"Facts," Leo said, with a smirk that was trying very hard not to be as pleased as it was and failing entirely.
"Now," Foca said, "rehearsals begin this afternoon. Until then — learn the song. Write your rap verses. And—" he paused, "—I'll be overseeing the process. All of it. Vocals, music production, choreography, arrangent. Everything."
The four OG mbers of 4 of Scones went still.
Simultaneously. Quietly. The specific stillness of people whose bodies had just rembered sothing their minds had briefly managed to set aside — the particular, precise, deeply personal experience of Foca overseeing a rehearsal. The Golden Disk preparation living freshly in the muscle mory of all four of them.
Nikola. Nox. Leo. Isaac.
All four: slightly rigid. Eyes forward. The look of soldiers who had been through a campaign and knew what the terrain ahead held.
Mikko and Louie, sitting beside them, had the bright, open, completely unguarded expressions of people who were excited and had absolutely no idea what was coming.
The innocence on their faces was, honestly, beautiful.
It would not survive contact with a Foca rehearsal.
But for now — it was beautiful.
****
After the eting, the six of them migrated to an available studio and got to work.
The sheet music was spread out. Phones were out. Soone had already pulled up a notes app. The particular focused energy of creative people in a room with a problem to solve settled over everything like a comfortable coat.
"I'm not too familiar with Mikko yet," Leo started, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "but Nikola and Nox — I know you two can write a an verse. So what are we thinking for the rap section?"
"Mikko can absolutely write bars," Nikola confird, with the easy certainty of soone vouching for soone they knew completely. "But for this specific song — the way it's structured — I think we should be leaning more toward rap singing. lodic. Borderline lodic rap in so sections. Not hardcore, not aggressive. More pop-centric." He turned. "What do you think?"
Nox, who had not stopped studying the sheet music since it landed in his hands, looked up.
"I agree. It's lody-based rather than rhythm-based — the song is asking for that." He tapped a section of the page. "And honestly? Rap singing is going to help us not co across as pompous asses while singing about male self-love. Which is already a tightrope we're walking."
"It softens the attitude," Louie said, nodding slowly. "Straight hard rap on a song about confidence and self-worth risks flipping into sothing that sounds arrogant rather than secure. We need the balance." He looked around. "Confidence without asshole. That's the target."
Universal nods. No debate. Everyone in the room understood the distinction intuitively.
The brainstorming humd forward.
And then —
"Umm."
Isaac. Quiet. Looking at the sheet music with a slightly uncertain expression that was doing battle with sothing more determined underneath it.
"Would you guys mind... if I wrote a section? Just a small part — the final bit of the first rap section. The lody and structure of it is speaking to and I—" He stopped himself. Started again. "I've never written lyrics before. Much less for a rap section. So I know it won't be perfect. But if it's okay with you guys, I'd like to try."
The room took approximately one second to respond.
"Dude — yes, obviously!" Nikola said, and the genuine surprise and warmth in his voice were equal parts. Because Isaac volunteering. Isaac stepping forward, unprompted, to take on sothing new and uncomfortable and creative — that was not a small thing. That was Isaac growing in real ti and choosing to do it out loud. "What are you even asking for, of course you can!"
"If it doesn't land," Mikko said, practically, "we work on it until it does. That's literally just the process."
"I'm glad you volunteered," Nox said, and the quiet pride in his voice was the specific kind that cos from watching soone you care about choose to stretch themselves. The big brother energy, fully present and completely there.
"See," Nikola said, pointing at Nox, "even the leader is on board."
"T-thanks, guys," Isaac said, the blush arriving on schedule, warm and genuine. "I'll do my best."
The words landed with that specific Alabama sincerity that ant exactly what they said and nothing less.
"Wait."
Leo's head ca up.
"Hold on. Hold the actual fuck up." He looked at Nikola. "Why is Nox suddenly the leader? When was this decided? Who voted? Was there a eting? Did soone send a mo? Because I did not receive a mo—"
"Leo," Nikola said, with the patient exasperation of soone delivering news to a person who had been elsewhere when it happened, "this was decided a long ti ago. While you were busy completing your side quests, Sir Foca appointed Nox as group leader."
Leo stared at him.
The information landing. Processing. Being checked against the available internal evidence and finding no counter-argunt because there genuinely wasn't one.
"Leo," Louie said carefully, testing the waters, "I think maybe it might be worth... slightly reducing the gaming hours?"
Leo turned to look at him with the slow, deliberate attention of soone who had just heard sothing that required a response.
"Did you just," Leo said, "essentially ask to die?"
"I—" Louie raised both hands imdiately. "No. Absolutely not. I was rely offering the perspective of a concerned friend. Two cents. Unsolicited. I take them back completely."
"Smart."
"Very smart."
"Extrely smart."
Nox had already gone back to the sheet music.
Mikko was scribbling sothing in the margin that may or may not have been rap lyrics and may or may not have included a doodle of himself.
Isaac was quietly, carefully, writing sothing in his notes app with the focused brow-knit of a person taking sothing seriously for the first ti.
And the brainstorming continued.
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