The six of them rose from the floor slowly, like people coming back from somewhere — blinking, breathing, the reality of the room reassembling itself around them as the noise hit.
And the noise hit.
Every person in that audience on their feet. The coaches on their feet. And somewhere across every screen tuned into the livestream, people standing in their living rooms, their bedrooms, their commutes, wherever they had been when this happened to them.
"LET'S GO ZEN!" Yen's voice cut through from the audience, his hands coming together so hard and so fast it had to hurt, the pride on his face too big to contain and not trying to be. His brother. His twin. Sitting on that stage and singing the start of a bridge that nobody knew was coming and meaning every word of it.
"ANGY — what WAS that?!" Johnny hollered, the genuine amazement in his voice completely unguarded.
"MIKKO! WHOOOO!" Timmy cheered, on his feet, with the specific invested energy of someone cheering for a kindred spirit. Which, in its own way, Mikko was — Timmy with his screws loose in one direction, Mikko with his screws loose in another, the two of them occupying adjacent frequencies of wonderful, chaotic, deeply lovable unhinged. A friendship built on complementary chaos.
"TAY-TAY WOULD BE SO PROUD OF YOU, TAYLOR!" someone shouted, and Taylor on stage received this with the beaming smile of a man who had always believed in the power of the discography and had just proven something.
"LEMON! FAHAD! Y'alls deep voices make me wanna c—"
The smack landed before the sentence could finish. Clean. Efficient. Toma's hand connecting with the back of the offending head with the speed and precision of someone who had seen where that was going from the first syllable.
"Keep it PG," Toma said simply. "Not R18."
The trainee rubbed the back of their head.
Fair enough honestly.
The livestream chat was moving at a speed that made individual messages essentially unreadable — a blur of capital letters and punctuation and emotions that had outpaced the ability to articulate them properly.
@Koko: ZEN MARRY ME PLEASE I AM BEGGING—
@1ndeciph3rable: Mr. Mikko Tan SIR. That voice of yours is genuinely something to behold. I was not prepared. Nobody warned me.
@Corn⭐: DADDY FAHAD STEP ON ME SPIT ON ME SLAP ME PLEASE I AM ON MY KNEES—
@MariahChickenCurry: @Corn⭐ you need to calm those tits RIGHT now girlie pop unless you want the mods to introduce themselves personally.
@Svn0one: I am so proud to be a Swiftie right now. A fellow Swiftie ate this hard. I am emotional. Taylor nation rise.
@somally_Aaa: Angy you can be angry at me every single day of my life and I would thank you for it. Just give me a chance. PLEASE.
@hells_swarm: Zen sang that bridge and I felt it rearrange something inside me. I don't know what. I'll figure it out in therapy.
@404BrainNotFound: the acapella. THE ACAPELLA. They had no track. They sat on the FLOOR. I cannot.
Cat walked onto the stage with the smile of someone who had just witnessed something they would be telling people about for a long time.
"Okay, everyone," she said, with that voice — warm, expensive, the kind that could settle a room without raising itself. "I know it's a significant ask. But let's settle down, shall we?"
The room settled. Barely. The energy still very much present, just redirected — sitting in seats, vibrating quietly, the contained version of something that very much wanted to keep going.
On stage, the six of them had found each other — arms around shoulders, foreheads almost together, beaming. The specific glow of people who had set out to do something and had done it, fully and completely, without compromise.
At the coaches' seats, one seat was experiencing a different situation entirely.
Robin. Tissues. Dabbing. The tears coming quietly and continuously with zero intention of stopping anytime soon.
Her makeup, notably, remained completely intact — courtesy of Damascus. Ultra water-proof, smudge-proof, made from all natural ingredients, personally formulated by Alexandrite — Foca's third eldest sibling, genius, scientist, and the reason Robin could cry through an acapella masterclass and still look flawless doing it.
#ShamelessPlug #Ad #Damascus
This author apologizes for nothing. The sponsors keep the lights on. The sponsors keep the artificial rain running. The sponsors keep the electricity bill paid when industrial fans are involved. We honor the sponsors.
And yes — for those paying attention — Damascus, like several of LEAVEN's other supporting companies, happens to sit within the extended orbit of Foca's remarkably talented family. The connection, as always, is being kept very quietly in the background.
For reasons that have been thoroughly documented.
Go back and read the earlier chapters if you've forgotten. 😉
****
"Look what y'all did," Dora said, gesturing at Robin with the fond exasperation of someone who loved her friend dearly and was going to tease her about this forever. "You made a woman cry. Did nobody tell you not to make a woman cry?"
The laughter that rippled through the audience was warm and immediate. Even Robin, tissues still in hand, was affected — the smile breaking through the tears in the way it does when someone catches you feeling something deeply and you can't be annoyed about it because they're right.
"Okay," Dora continued, settling back, "since vocal technicalities are not my department — I'll just say this." She looked at the six of them. "You rose above the occasion. All of you."
The guys bowed. Deep, genuine, grateful.
"And—" Dora held up a finger, the smile turning slightly conspiratorial, "a little birdy has informed me that your actual challenge tonight was supposed to be a sudden music cut in the middle of your performance." She let that land. "It just so happened that when you got up on that stage, the entire sound tech team was scrambling because your music track had genuinely, legitimately, gone missing. An honest mistake."
The collective shock from the audience was audible.
"But here's the thing," Dora said, leaning forward, "you didn't know that. You couldn't have known that. And you adapted anyway — immediately, creatively, completely. And you gave what I personally consider to be one of the best performances of this entire evaluation." She tilted her head. "Contested only by Johnny's team and the gentlemen who did Work. Those three, in this author's — I mean, in this coach's — humble opinion, were the standouts of the night."
"THANK YOU!" Six voices. One feeling.
Lorelei stood up.
"Lip syncing—" she started, pausing deliberately, looking around the room, "WHO?"
"SAY IT AGAIN FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK!" Dora hollered.
"Lip." Lorelei enunciated it. "Syncing." Another beat. "WHOOOOOO?"
The room erupted.
"If that performance is not evidence enough that every single person in this program is singing live," Lorelei said, once the noise settled enough for words, "then I genuinely don't know what would be." She turned to the stage. "Now. I do have a bone to pick with all of you."
The guys blinked.
"You made my wife cry." She folded her arms. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"
Zen was already typing. Phone in hand, finished, shoved directly at Mikko with the efficiency of someone who had a system and it worked.
Mikko read.
"Zen says — 'We are incredibly sorry???'" Mikko paused. "Yes, with three question marks, that's what he wrote."
He received a pinch. Sharp and immediate. He jumped, chuckled, and kept reading.
"It was not our intention to make you cry. For what it's worth — Miss Robin, you still look very pretty." Mikko looked up with a smile. "That's what Zen said."
"Sweet talker," Lorelei said, eyes dancing. "Going after someone else's wife now, are we?"
Zen's head shook so fast and so vehemently that it was practically its own performance. The mortification on his face genuine and complete and absolutely adorable.
In the audience, Yen buried his face in his hands with the fond suffering of a twin who had been watching this his whole life.
"How can my brother be so adorable," he said, mostly to himself.
"He do be," Jeremiah nodded, with the solemn, considered certainty of a man stating a well-established fact.
"Ugh," Johnny said, "what a bro-con."
The glares arrived from multiple directions simultaneously. Yen. Jeremiah. Louie. Toma.
Timmy looked at Johnny with his head tilted slightly, the expression of someone observing something they couldn't quite categorize. As if Johnny was the strange one in this scenario.
Which, in this specific instance, he was.
Because Zen had been adopted. By everyone. Collectively. Without a formal vote but with unanimous agreement. And you simply did not come for Zen on everyone's collective watch.
Johnny received this information through eye contact alone and chose, wisely, to say nothing further.
"I can't comment on the technical specifics," Lorelei said, settling back into something quieter and more personal, "but what I can tell you is what I felt." She paused, finding the words. "I felt like you were singing about something you couldn't escape. A force you didn't choose, pulling you down. A plea to be let go." Her voice was warm and unhurried. "And I felt that — because I think most of us have something like that. Something weighing on us that we're trying to name, trying to get free from. You didn't make it heavy. You made it light enough to breathe in. Safe enough to sit with. And you made everyone in this room — and everyone watching at home — feel seen." She smiled. "I commend you for that."
"Thank you," the six of them said, and meant it completely.
"One more thing — and I think I already know the answer," Lorelei said, "but I'd like to confirm. Who was the mastermind behind this?"
Liam pointed at Zen.
Mikko pointed at Zen.
Lemon pointed at Zen.
Taylor pointed at Zen.
Fahad pointed at Zen.
Five arms, one direction, no hesitation.
Zen turned approximately the color of something very red, the shy smile doing its best to hide itself and failing.
"I thought so," Lorelei said warmly.
"LET'S GO ZEN — THAT'S MY BROTHER!" Yen's voice from the audience, not even slightly contained.
"Let's GO baby boy!" Jeremiah, equally loud, equally invested.
Mikko stepped forward slightly, the smile on his face the genuine kind that doesn't perform itself. "What you saw tonight is exactly how our very first rehearsal of this song went. This guy made us all sing it acapella from day one — directing every line, every harmony, every ad lib. He made us sound like that."
"He was a tad bossy though," Lemon said, nodding, warming to the topic immediately. "Like, at one point if you didn't land the pitch he would just — make you repeat it. Over and over. Until you got it. Like, he was actually kind of brutal, like at one point I thought—"
Three hands descended on Lemon simultaneously. Fahad. Taylor. Liam. One over the mouth, two on the shoulders. The practiced, synchronized intervention of people who had learned exactly when to deploy it.
Lemon's words were successfully contained.
"And I can see every single hour of that hard work," Lorelei said, looking at Zen with clear, direct warmth, "in every moment of what you just gave us. Amazing job, Zen. Truly."
Zen bowed.
Deep and unhurried and from somewhere genuine.
****
And then Robin.
Who took a breath. Dabbed the last of the tears from her face with the quiet composure of someone who had felt something deeply and was making peace with being seen feeling it.
"I think you all already have a fairly good idea of how I feel about that performance," she said, the warmth in her voice unhurried and complete. "The last time I cried like this during LEAVEN was the day the first debut lineups were revealed. Especially during Bobby's performance." She paused. "Those are the moments that make me stop and feel genuinely, incredibly blessed that I get to do a job that I love."
The applause that moved through the room was soft and sincere — the kind that isn't about volume but about agreement. The shared acknowledgment of everyone present, and everyone watching, that they too felt it. That watching these young men work this hard and give this much was its own kind of gift.
"Now," Robin said, settling forward slightly, "I'm a little curious about something I noticed. What exactly was happening between Zen and Liam while the rest of the team was getting seated?"
Both of them blinked.
The rest of the team turned to look at them with the synchronized curiosity of people who had just learned there was a chapter they'd missed.
A beat of silence.
Then Liam spoke.
"Zen told me to take the high part during the bridge climax," he said, simply and directly. "That was his part. The part he sang was supposed to be mine. He switched them — right before we went on, no warning, no time to argue." He paused. "I was shocked. But thinking about it now..." His voice settled into something quieter. "I'm actually really grateful he did."
And then he kept going.
Which nobody had expected.
"The past week — I haven't been the best version of myself toward Zen. And I haven't had a proper chance to say what I should've said." He turned. Not to the coaches, not to the audience. To Zen. "I'm sorry for how I treated you. I'm completely aware it wasn't okay. I don't regret what I said — I meant it, and I think you know that — but I deeply regret the way I said it. It was hurtful. I let my anger drive and it went somewhere it shouldn't have." He held Zen's gaze steadily. "You kept treating me normally after that, even when I hadn't given you any reason to. So. Thank you for that. And I'm sorry."
The room held it.
The particular stillness of people witnessing something real — unexpected and unperformed and completely genuine. A public apology from someone who normally kept those things private, which made it mean something different. Something more.
Zen was already typing before the silence had fully settled. Finished. Handed the phone to Mikko without looking up.
Mikko read.
"I'm sorry too." He paused, then kept going. "I understand why you did what you did — you were protecting yourself and your dream. I never took it personally, because I knew that's what it was. Could it have been said differently? Maybe. But it happened and it's done. So you don't have anything to apologize for." A beat. "But for what it's worth — I accept it. Genuinely."
The collective awwwwww that filled the room was immediate and completely unstoppable.
"Ah," Dora said, shaking her head slowly, dramatically, with the fond weariness of someone watching youth do what youth does. "To be young."
@Hyouka_Icecream: MY SHAYLA!!!!
Yes. That Hyouka. Our Hyouka. Who had not missed a single episode or livestream. Not one. Because of course she hadn't.
"It's genuinely wonderful to see that," Robin said warmly. "Owning mistakes. Accepting apologies. Openly." She smiled. "But going back — Zen, I'm curious. Why did you give Liam your part?"
Zen typed at a speed that suggested he had been thinking about how to say this and had the words ready.
He passed the phone to Mikko.
"I forgot my tablet in the rehearsal room one evening and had to go back for it — my thesis was saved on it—"
The room reacted immediately. Eyes widening. Several heads turning toward Yen with the unspoken question of is this real.
"Zen's in his final year of Psychology," Yen said, with the casual pride of someone stating the most normal thing in the world. "He's doing online classes while competing here."
The silence that followed had a very specific texture.
Mikko continued reading.
"When I got to the studio, the lights were still on. I heard a voice. And when I went in — it was Liam. Still there. Still practicing. He was singing the whole song by himself." A pause. "When the bridge came and he hit that note — something in me just knew. That part was always meant for him. I don't know how to explain it better than that. I just knew. So I wanted him to have it. To let him soar. He's always been such a strong singer. I just never understood why he never let himself fully explore what his voice could do."
Liam's teammates descended on him immediately — pats, shoulder shakes, the gleeful affection of people who had just watched their friend get complimented in the most specific and sincere way possible and were going to make sure he felt every second of it.
Liam tried to hide his face.
His face was not cooperating.
"I am deeply, genuinely grateful that you made that call," Robin said, looking at Zen with the direct warmth she reserved for things she meant completely. "Because now all of us know there is so much more to Liam than he'd been letting on." She shook her head slowly, the smile sitting full on her face. "What a wonder this show truly is."