> A heartbeat is a drum;
a promise is a lyric.
Tonight, CJ learns if his melody can survive the noise.
No
---
1. Morning Static — Mama's Cough
The day after their rooftop confession, CJ woke to the smell of boiling porridge and the rasp of his mother's cough echoing through the thin walls.
It sounded heavier.
"Mama, rest—lemme handle breakfast," he urged.
She waved him off with a smile too weak for her words. "I'm not fragile, mtoto. Just a cold."
But the tremble in her hands told a different story. CJ's stomach knotted: money was tight, clinics weren't free, and the battle with Blaze had already drained his mental wallet.
He whispered a promise only the kettle heard: I'll fix this.
---
2. Afternoon — An Unexpected Audience
At Tico's makeshift studio, CJ and Shantel rehearsed a brand-new duet: her velvet spoken word melting into his razor-sharp bars. The hook shimmered:
> "Two hearts, one mic,
Stitching scars into light."
When they finished, slow applause floated from the doorway. A tall woman in a linen blazer stepped inside, phone still recording.
"I'm Estelle Kova," she said. "A&R scout for Trustline Records. Been hearing buzz about an Eastpoint Echo and his 'phoenix hook.' Mind if I sit?"
Tico's eyes bugged. Lulu mouthed bruh. CJ wiped sweaty palms on his jeans, but Shantel squeezed his hand—steadying electricity.
Estelle listened to three tracks, took notes, then leaned forward. "I'm scouting a showcase next week. Slots are tight. You two—together—could be the story the city's missing."
CJ felt the room spin slightly. A record label? An actual shot?
But before he could answer, a sharp vibration rattled Shantel's phone. Kevy, Blaze's right-hand, had posted to Instagram:
> Tonight. Midnight. Riverside Park.
Blaze returns. Bring your crown, 'Eastpoint Echo'—
We're taking it back.
The post tagged CJ and—worse—Shantel.
Estelle raised an eyebrow. "Street drama sells. Just make sure you walk away alive."
---
3. Dusk — Bad News
CJ hurried home, heart in his throat.
The neighbor met him at the door: "Your mother collapsed, boy. They took her to St. Mary's clinic."
The world muted. No beat. No lyrics. Just static.
At the clinic, his mother lay pale, IV glinting. The doctor muttered about exhaustion, respiratory infection, rest and bills that sounded like impossible numbers.
CJ's pockets held twenty-two shillings and a lyric sheet.
He kissed her forehead. "I've got a gig, Mama. I'll cover it."
He didn't mention the fight. She didn't ask—only whispered, "Sing me proud."
---
4. Midnight — The Park, Again
Fog clung to Riverside like bitter memory.
Blaze stood under a busted lamp, Kevy livestreaming. A small crowd circled, phones poised.
CJ arrived with Shantel at his side and the crew flanking them—Charles, Lulu, Tico, James.
Estelle Kova lingered in the shadows, recording.
Blaze smirked. "Thought love songs could save you? Cute. But this—" he pointed at the cracked concrete—"is my stage."
CJ stepped forward, jaw tight. "Let's keep it in verses. No knives."
Blaze laughed, shrugging. "Fine. Words cut deeper anyway."
---
The Battle
Blaze opened with venom, spitting lines about CJ's broke home, his sick mom, calling Shantel "a pity verse." The crowd hissed in sympathy—and bloodlust.
CJ closed his eyes, felt his mother's frail hand, heard Shantel's whispered "you got this," and unleashed:
> "You brag about scars you borrowed
while I'm stitching wounds that bleed.
You weaponize our hunger—
I turn it into feed.
My mama fights for breath,
so I lend her mine in rhyme.
You threaten queens for clout?
I crown 'em every time."
The beat dropped—Lulu beatboxed thunder. Shantel flowed in:
> "I'm the pulse in his pen,
the calm in his roar;
We write futures in echoes
you can't ignore."
The crowd erupted, phones aloft like lightning bugs.
Blaze stepped back, fury smoldering. But before he could swing another verse, Estelle's voice sliced the haze:
"Enough. The label's made its choice."
She pointed at CJ and Shantel. "You're booked for the Trustline showcase. Contracts tomorrow."
Gasps, cheers, curses. Blaze's mouth hung open, camera still rolling.
---
5. Aftermath — Silent Streets
Blaze vanished into the mist, pride in shards.
CJ's crew whooped, lifting him and Shantel on their shoulders as horns blared from distant matatus.
But CJ slipped away to the clinic before sunrise, contract copy pressed to his heart.
He slid the paper under his mother's sleeping hand.
She stirred, eyes soft. "You sang me proud," she whispered.
CJ smiled through tears. "And I'm just getting started."
---
End of Arc One
Next Arc Preview: "Contracts & Crossroads"
The label's offer is real—but so are the fine-print traps.
Blaze might be down, but his crew smells vengeance.
And fame? It tests love harder than any street fight.
Ready to turn the page? 🎤💜