🎶 But see here's the thing, babe, try to understand, I love myself first, that's where I stand— 🎶
And then Mikko stepped into the pre-chorus.
With the dimples out. That specific, deeply unfair combination of adorable and infuriating that Mikko deployed so naturally it had to be intentional — the dimples appearing alongside the smirk in a way that made the whole thing simultaneously endearing and aggravating to witness. And the way he sang it — every syllable oozing with a swagger that sohow also carried the unmistakable bones of classical opera training underneath, the foundation invisible but present in every controlled, playful, masterful note.
"HELL YEAH, BROTHER!"
Jonathan, from the audience, pointing directly at Mikko with the unbridled enthusiasm of a man who had just heard his own philosophy delivered back to him in lody form and was very much here for it.
Mikko pointed back.
A kindred mont. Two people with healthy egos recognizing each other across a room.
🎶 Ain't tryna be cold, ain't tryna be rude, Just choosing what's right, staying true— 🎶
The rest of the pre-chorus unfurling with Mikko's particular playful touch — his voice doing things with the lody that were technically precise and sohow also felt completely free, the classical training and the personality existing in perfect harmony with each other.
And then the chorus arrived.
Nox stepped forward.
And this was the thing about Nox — the thing that people who hadn't seen him perform didn't understand until they did. He was a chaleon. A blender. Soone who could disappear into a harmony, support a room, fill every space that needed filling without ever needing to be seen doing it. That was his gift and he used it completely.
But when Nox stepped into the light —
The power that ca with him was its own thing entirely. No announcent. No performance of confidence. Just Nox, present, and the room adjusting to accommodate it.
He was, simply, Him. Full stop.
🎶 I respect those who respect , And love those who love , I do unto others What I want others to do to — 🎶
The choreography was tight. Synchronized. Clean. And yet — because these six had built sothing real over all those rehearsal hours — every personality was still visible within it. Six distinct people moving as one thing without losing what made them individual.
The crowd was invested. Bopping. Grooving. The energy in the room building on itself the way good music makes it build — not forced, not manufactured, just happening because sothing true was being delivered.
And then Isaac sang.
🎶 So if that's you, babe, Please hear when I say— 🎶
That voice. Raw and sincere and carrying the specific quality of soone who was simply incapable of singing anything without aning it completely — it landed in the room like sothing warm and heavy and entirely real.
And the smile that ca with it. That sweet Southern smile.
Sowhere in the audience, a young woman encountered that smile for the first ti.
And was, imdiately, completely, irrevocably done for.
Not stanning would have been a cri. It was, in the most complete sense of the phrase, a romcom chick-flick mont — love at first sight, occurring in real ti, at the Sparrow Charity Ball, because Isaac had smiled during a performance and the universe had simply decided that was going to happen tonight.
And then all six of them ca together.
The lean-back body wave — Jonathan's signature party move, the quintessential expression of a man who was comfortable enough in his own skin to just move when music was good. Jonathan doing it from his seat looked like exactly what it was — pure, unselfconscious joy.
The six doing it on stage added sothing else. That specific, considered, completely intentional gentlemanly sensuality — the kind that doesn't announce itself but is absolutely present — while singing, essentially, Jonathan De Clairmontin's entire biography back to him.
🎶 I got that healthy, healthy, healthy ego, I got that healthy, healthy, healthy ego— 🎶
****
When the six of them dropped into Jonathan's signature lean-back body wave, Jonathan lost it.
"EYYYYYY!"
And then he was up — or as up as a man could get while still technically seated — doing the move right along with them. The crowd around him caught it imdiately, the wave rippling outward, Jonathan basically conducting an impromptu group activity from his seat without even trying.
Then the rap ca.
And boy, did it co in swinging.
Nikola stepped forward and attacked it with the confidence of an entire legion.
🎶They say I'm pretentious, obnoxious, ridiculous
But my ego ain't bruised, I know where I stood in this
Self-aware, not self-obsessed
I pass the mirror test, I'm not impressed...🎶
Every movent.
Every verse.
Every word.
Everything carried intention.
Everything carried confidence.
The kind of confidence that only worked because Nikola genuinely believed every syllable leaving his mouth.
And his facial expressions?
A masterpiece.
The man possessed enough facial control to communicate entirely through expressions if necessary.
His face was basically an emoji catalogue.
Limited edition.
Premium subscription included.
Every raised eyebrow.
Every smirk.
Every glance.
Every tiny shift in expression landed exactly where it needed to.
Now, for so people?
That level of expressiveness would induce second-hand embarrassnt so powerful it'd rearrange your skeleton.
You know those K-pop ending fairies?
Yeah.
For legal reasons and personal survival, I shall elaborate no further.
But Nikola?
Nikola sohow made it work.
Not only did it work, it elevated the performance.
Nothing felt forced.
Nothing felt rehearsed.
His expressions flowed naturally from one to the next, smooth as water running downhill.
The result wasn't cringe.
It was captivating.
🎶Just a warning, babe, read the signs
I won't be manipulated, crossed, or confined
No humiliation, no ntal jail
I'm free by design, yeah I love that trail🎶
"Damn right!" Jonathan shouted again.
At this point, his outbursts were becoming increasingly frequent.
But honestly?
Let the man shout.
The song was basically about him in the first place.
Give him his mont.
Not that Jonathan would settle for just a mont.
Knowing him, he'd probably make this his entire personality for the next year.
Possibly longer.
Especially considering the song had been written by his beloved baby brother.
Then Mikko swooped in once again, effortlessly carrying the baton.
Because apparently being good at one thing wasn't enough for him.
No.
The universe had decided to distribute talents unevenly that day.
Not only could Mikko sing.
Not only could he sing well.
The man could rap too.
And what made his part especially difficult was that it wasn't purely rap.
It wasn't purely singing either.
It lived sowhere in between.
The lody wrapped itself around the rap while the rap rode the lody forward.
Neither fought for dominance.
Both worked together.
🎶Fair play only, don't play sideways
I love hard, but I love always
Healthy ego, not fragile pride
I don't chase validation, I walk inside🎶
And sohow...
Sohow...
Mikko was delivering all of this while performing intricate b-boy floorwork.
The choreography twisted through threading sequences that would've been difficult enough without adding vocals into the equation.
Yet there he was.
On the floor.
Rapping.
Singing.
Perfectly in tune.
Like gravity itself had signed a cooperation agreent with him.
At this point, singing while breakdancing felt less like a special skill and more like an ordinary Tuesday for Mikko.
Which, to be fair, it probably was.
****
As the pre-chorus slash rap section that Isaac had written himself drew closer, nerves churned deep inside him.
But he pushed through.
Because he knew exactly how hard he'd worked on this part.
Sure, it was only a pre-chorus.
A relatively small section in the grand sche of the song.
But it was his.
Every word.
Every line.
Every thought.
And he was proud of it.
So when his mont finally arrived, Isaac stepped forward with his chest lifted high.
🎶I ain't here to dominate, control, or own
Just standing tall, comfortable alone
If you add to my life, you're welco to stay
If not, no beef—I bless my way🎶
On paper, the lyrics could easily co across as cocky.
Maybe even arrogant.
But because it was Isaac singing them?
They felt different.
They felt sincere.
Comforting, even.
Like soone genuinely giving you permission to value yourself.
The ssage wasn't "I'm better than you."
The ssage was "I'm okay with ."
And honestly?
That hit harder.
Body is tea.
Hair is tea.
Gossip is tea.
But for Isaac?
Self-love is tea.
And the audience was gulping it down piping hot.
And that last line?
I bless my way.
Hoooooo, LORD.
That man absolutely blessed his way.
During rehearsals and recordings, Isaac had already extended the note beautifully.
The belt had always been impressive.
But tonight?
Tonight was different.
Sothing clicked.
Sothing unlocked.
When he hit that final note and let it soar through the venue, a collective shiver swept through the crowd.
Literal goosebumps.
The kind that started at the back of your neck and traveled down your spine.
Even the other mbers were caught off guard.
Several pairs of eyes widened.
Nikola glanced at Mikko.
Mikko glanced back.
A brief exchange occurred.
"The fuck?"
"Holy shit."
Very eloquent.
Truly masters of language.
The rest of the group was equally surprised.
But alongside the shock ca sothing else.
A spark.
A fire.
Because nobody wanted to get left behind.
Nobody wanted to be overshadowed.
And Isaac had just thrown down the gauntlet.
Pre-choruses exist for a reason.
They're the runway.
The final stretch before the song takes flight.
They're ant to build anticipation.
Raise heart rates.
Make people crave what's coming next.
And Isaac's pre-chorus did exactly that.
It stole the crowd's breath.
It wound the tension tighter and tighter.
So when the chorus arrived and Louie stepped forward?
Everyone was already on their feet.
🎶I respect those who respect ,
And love those who love
I do unto others
What I want others do to 🎶
The crowd erupted.
People clapped along to the beat.
They swayed from side to side.
The air felt lighter sohow.
All the snobbishness and pretentiousness that had lingered earlier in the evening had vanished without a trace.
Young entrepreneurs who had originally attended the charity ball hoping to secure investors had completely forgotten their mission.
Networking?
Business?
Strategic partnerships?
Not tonight.
Tonight they were concertgoers.
🎶So if that's you, babe,🎶
Leo sang.
anwhile, Nikola stepped forward.
"Y'all ready?!" he shouted into the crowd.
The response was imdiate.
The man worked a crowd like he'd been doing it his entire life.
Every ad-lib.
Every shout.
Every interaction.
Effortless.
"Sing with us!"
🎶Please hear when I say…🎶
Leo finished.
And to everyone's surprise, the crowd actually sang back.
Loudly.
Princess Alesha.
Princess Sophia.
Prince Arthur.
All of them singing at the top of their lungs.
Sohow already knowing the chorus despite hearing the song for the very first ti.
Which, scientifically speaking, should have been impossible.
Yet here they were.
🎶I got that healthy, healthy, healthy ego
I got that healthy, healthy, healthy ego🎶
Jonathan was singing.
Odette was singing.
The three royals were singing.
A large portion of Jonathan's friends were singing.
Even Pearl and Cole had joined in.
And together, they all perford the now-infamous Jonathan Lean-Back Body Wave.
anwhile, Alexandrite, the third sibling and the resident laboratory cryptid, was participating from the safety of his seat.
This was a man who rarely left his lab unless absolutely necessary.
A man who treated sunlight like an optional side quest.
And today had apparently qualified as an ergency worthy of his attendance.
So there he was.
Doing the lean-back body wave.
In his seat.
And because he perpetually looked like a sleepy potato who had just been awakened from a centuries-long nap...
He sohow managed to perform the dance with an astonishing amount of demure elegance.
Nobody understood how.
Nobody questioned it.
It was simply Alexandrite being Alexandrite.
****
PS - You can listen to "Healthy Ego" in full at YouTube (@FocacciaBread-Music), Spotify (sopen.spotify/album/4QUAhCjeh6VNkJjQq6wnnU?si=BpvIPtSZShKp8ClY3TPTdw) or other digital streaming platforms.
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