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Chapter 95: The Tour Proposal
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 01:48:38 +0000 UTCThough the words came out with some effort, Cliff grew steadier as he spoke. Even under the intense gazes of his bandmates, his resolve didn’t waver.
Letting out a long breath, he met their eyes. “Our situation hasn’t changed—not in the past few hours, and probably not for a long while. We’re still facing a ton of unknowns. This isn’t a fairy tale, after all.”
“But?” Ollie piped up. If Cliff didn’t follow that with a “but,” he might just lose it right there.
“But,” Cliff continued, thankfully, “like Ronan said, everyone’s chasing the light. Even if we gave up music and the band, would life just let us off the hook? As long as we’re still unsatisfied deep down, we’ll never let ourselves off. So instead of turning away with regrets, why not stubbornly see it through to the end? See what’s waiting there? We’re already banged up anyway.”
This Cliff felt a little unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar too—like the Cliff who’d stayed up all night rehearsing “Born This Way,” or the one who shone fully on stage.
“I know this sounds like a different Cliff talking, but trust me, I’m not split-personality,” he said, catching the doubt in Ollie’s eyes. A complete 180 in just two hours? All because of Ronan’s new song?
Ollie clearly wasn’t buying it.
So Cliff cracked a small joke. “I just… I just want to be reckless one more time, you know? Like when we were eighteen. If we don’t seize it now, we might never get the chance again. So stop questioning me, or my sensible side might drag me back into hiding any second.”
Ollie didn’t bite, grumbling some alien gibberish under his breath to vent his frustration. It wasn’t until Ronan’s gaze landed on him that he finally shut up.
“But obviously, we need a change,” Cliff went on, pretending he hadn’t heard. “How about this: after the bar tour ends, we hit the road for a highway tour. What do you think?”
“Highway tour?”
“Are you nuts?”
“What’s that?”
“Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“Not exactly sounding sane here.”
Ollie and Maxim’s voices overlapped in a chaotic jumble, but Cliff turned to Ronan. “What about you?”
Ronan didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. “I don’t get it. What do you mean by ‘highway tour’? We don’t have enough cash to keep traveling, do we?”
“No, no, not that kind of highway tour,” Cliff said with a laugh. “The kind you’re thinking of—finding venues and all—is basically a full-on concert tour. Driving from city to city to perform. It’s the same as our bar tour now, just fancier. Even a band like Flash Band might not snag sponsors for something like that.”
His words buzzed in the air, each one clear on its own but jumbled together into something confusing.
Ronan frowned, puzzled.
Ollie and Maxim fell quiet too, realizing they’d misunderstood Cliff along with Ronan.
Cliff explained further. “I mean street performances—like what just happened. We’d hit the road, stop in city after city, perform on the streets, collect enough cash to move on to the next one, and keep going.”
What?
It was… absurd. Almost laughable.
This was a real sink-or-swim idea.
Street performing was the lowest rung of the ladder—lower than anything One Day Kings had faced in years.
Sure, they’d done commercial gigs with decent pay and nice venues. One gig could cover half a month’s living expenses—way better than the feast-or-famine life of street artists, not to mention dodging wind and sun.
Now, instead of leveling up, One Day Kings would be choosing to downgrade—back to the streets, drifting like gypsies, facing the elements head-on. A step backward? Their music career wasn’t breaking through—it was circling back to square one.
But surprisingly, Ollie and Maxim didn’t object. They both sank into thought, and so did Ronan.
Why would Cliff suggest this?
If you really thought about it—peeled back the absurdity and simplicity to see the core intent—it wasn’t hard to grasp.
First, back to basics.
Over the years, they’d lingered in commercial gigs, slowly forgetting the pure, simple love for music they’d started with. That drift had seeped into Maxim and Ollie’s songwriting, showing up in their work.
Logically, as they shed their rookie phase, their creations should’ve matured, showcasing real talent. But instead, they’d fallen into a shallow, quick-and-dirty commercial rut—one that didn’t even connect with the market. That was part of why Scooter judged their music the way he did.
They needed to get back to simple.
Second, sharpen their edge.
The rawness of street performing meant dealing with all kinds of unexpected chaos—crucial for live shows. Plus, being up close with the crowd demanded more from their performance. They’d have to win over a constantly shifting audience with their music, face-to-face.
It was a grind for their skills, their mindset, their experience.
They needed to shed the restlessness.
Third, stay focused.
No need to worry about the distant future—just live day by day. On one hand, daily cash would keep the band going. On the other, daily practice and polish would keep their performances sharp. Each day in front of them was what mattered—no fretting about what’s ahead, just steady steps forward.
Survival and performance conditions would be their only concerns. It’d let them set aside distractions like the market, fame, or failure, and truly focus on the music.
They needed to rediscover their focus and unity.
Of course, if the band had the means, they could do a proper highway tour—tackling those three goals over a long journey while building a fanbase. Smart move. But they didn’t have the resources, so they’d have to settle for this basic, clunky approach.
And maybe, just maybe, this clunky approach was exactly what One Day Kings needed right now.
(End of Chapter)
