Gangster to Idol

When it was Cain's turn, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, finding Raneisha lounging on a velvet couch.

Her sharp eyes flickered up to him, a mask of indifference on her face. She barely looked interested, her hand lazily gesturing for him to start.

"You may begin," she said, as if yesterday's confrontation had been nothing but a forgotten dream.

Cain felt his jaw tighten. The sting of her kick from their last encounter still hung in the air, but he swallowed it down.

This wasn't about their personal battle; this was about proving himself. Slowly, he uncrumpled the sheet of music in his hand, but instead of focusing on the notes, he let the rhythm of his heartbeat guide him.

Closing his eyes for a brief second, he steadied his breath. His voice, newly found and deeper than before, came out with a gravelly edge — rough yet stirring.

It wasn't the polished tone he used to have, but something raw, something honest. Something that mirrored the struggle and strength he'd built over the weeks.

As he began to sing, the lyrics flowed out of him like a slow, burning flame.

Falling through the cracks of the city lights,

Shadows chase me, but I won't hide,

With every step, I'll rise again,

Cause the fire in my soul won't end . . .

The hoarseness in his voice gave each word weight, as if every note was scraped from somewhere deep within him.

It was more than just a song — it was an anthem of survival. His tone wasn't perfect, but it was raw, commanding attention.

Raneisha's bored expression flickered for a moment. She leaned forward slightly, the faintest trace of curiosity in her gaze as Cain continued.

They said I'd never make it out alive,

But I've been down too long to die,
Find your adventure at m-v|l e'm,p y r

I'll wear these scars like armor now,

And I'll stand tall, no matter how . . .

The room, once filled with tension, now seemed to hold only his voice, pulling at every note with a defiant power.

Cain wasn't just singing the song — he was living it, drawing strength from every verse.

When he finished, the last note hanging in the air like the final strike of a drum, Cain slowly opened his eyes.

Raneisha's expression was unreadable, but there was something different in the way she looked at him now.

For the first time, Cain saw something other than boredom in her eyes . . . something he couldn't put his finger on to what exactly.

Raneisha remained seated, her eyes studying C.C. in silence for a moment after his song ended.

There was a beat of tension in the air, the kind that made Cain's jaw tighten. His pulse still pounded from the intensity of the performance, his rough voice still lingering in his ears.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice as sharp as a blade but calm, cool. "Your voice . . . it's got something."

Her fingers drummed idly on the arm of the couch, but her eyes never left him. "It's raw, deep, and there's a gravel to it that could work in your favor. But right now, it's like an uncut gem. Unpolished. Rough around the edges."

Cain frowned but kept quiet, sensing there was more.

Raneisha sat up straighter, crossing one leg over the other. "You're relying on that hoarseness too much, like it's your only trick. And trust me, if you keep doing that, the audience is going to get bored."

She tilted her head, studying him as if calculating how to break down his performance. "A voice like yours needs refinement, control. You can't just belt out every note with raw power and expect it to land."

"This lady . . ." Fifi floated nearby, eyes wide with awe, practically glowing. "She's incredible. Not only did she help you find your voice, but she pinpointed exactly what the problem was and gave you the solution. She really is .

. . the Queen."

"Not you too . . . ," he muttered, though he couldn't shake the grudging respect he now held for Raneisha.

As much as he hated to admit it, she was the reason he'd finally tapped into that deeper, rawer sound inside him — the one that had always been there but just out of reach.

Still, the memory of her boot slamming into his groin flashed through his mind, the pain all too vivid. That humiliation lingered, an invisible bruise to his pride.

Cain clenched his fists slightly at the thought. Yeah, she'd helped him find his voice, but that kick? He wasn't letting that slide.

"I'll give her this — she knows her stuff. But I'm still not done with her," he thought. That payback was coming, even if he had to play the long game.

Raneisha might be the Queen, but Cain wasn't about to bow to anyone.

Cain shifted slightly, his mind absorbing her words. He knew his voice wasn't perfect, but it was all he had right now.

"What do you mean by refinement?" he asked, his voice steady despite the knot of frustration building inside him.

Raneisha didn't seem fazed by his question. In fact, she almost smiled, like she'd been waiting for it. "You need to learn how to play with your voice. Right now, you're just singing loud because you think it'll make you sound strong, but that's not how it works."

She stood up suddenly, walking over to him with a fluid grace. Her presence was intimidating up close, but Cain held his ground.

"Your voice has layers, C.C. There's more to it than just the roughness. You need to find those layers and use them to your advantage. Play with softness, explore quieter moments. Learn how to pull the listener in with subtlety instead of blasting them away with volume."

Her words struck a chord. Cain had believed that power and intensity were what made his voice stand out, but now she was challenging him to think differently.

"Let me give you an example." Raneisha stepped closer, gesturing for him to watch.

She hummed a low note, deep and soft at first, and then slowly, she built on it — adding a gentle vibrato, letting it rise in intensity but keeping it controlled, almost effortless.

"You see? There's tension in the quiet moments, a build-up. If you start loud, you have nowhere to go. But if you start soft, you create anticipation."

Cain listened intently, nodding slowly as he began to understand. "So, it's not just about power," he muttered.

"Yes," Raneisha replied. "It's about contrast. Light and shade. You need to give people a reason to stay interested, to wonder what's coming next. If you learn to master that balance, you'll keep them on edge, waiting for more."

She stepped back, folding her arms as if the lesson was over. "Work on it. You've got potential, but it's up to you whether you make people listen or tune out."