The buzz from CJ's victory hadn't just changed him. It had sent ripples through the entire crew—deep, quiet ripples that shook each of them in different ways.
They were still friends. Still called each other "fam." But something was shifting, and no one wanted to be the first to say it.
---
Lulu: The Backbone with a Breaking Point
Lulu sat at the edge of her bed, scrolling through CJ's latest interview clips. Her phone buzzed constantly—people asking if she was "the girl in CJ's crew." Some assumed she was his girlfriend. Others dismissed her entirely.
She hated how invisible she'd suddenly become.
Not long ago, she'd been CJ's closest creative partner—editing his rhymes, managing their small shows, choosing his outfits, even printing his flyers. Now? She wasn't even tagged in the new studio post.
"I'm not jealous," she whispered aloud.
She wasn't.
She was scared.
Scared that this spotlight CJ had walked into would burn her out of the picture. She believed in him more than anyone—but what if believing wasn't enough to stay relevant in his new world?
Later that night, she opened a fresh notebook. This time, it wasn't for CJ's lyrics. It was hers.
> "This city loves stars, but forgets who lit the match.
So I'll write my name on every page I catch."
She closed the book. "Maybe it's time I start my own fire."
---
Tico: The Watcher
Tico didn't speak much. He never had.
But he noticed everything.
He saw how CJ had stopped updating the group chat. How Charles had begun smoking again. How James wore headphones more often now—not listening to CJ's music, but drowning it out.
And he noticed how Lulu was shrinking herself—faking smiles, fading into corners.
Tico didn't envy CJ. He respected him. But he also saw where this road led. He had watched artists before—watched them rise, shine, then snap. Some from pressure. Others from loneliness.
He began keeping a journal. Every night, he wrote something CJ had forgotten.
> "Today, you left before thanking the sound guy.
Yesterday, you missed Charles' new beat.
The day before, you called us your 'past.'"
Tico wasn't waiting for CJ to fall.
He was waiting to see if CJ would remember how to climb with both hands.
---
Charles: The Soldier Turned Shadow
Charles had always been CJ's muscle. The guy who hyped him before battles. The one who walked him through Mathare at night. The protector.
But now? He felt more like security than family.
He hadn't said much after CJ booked that studio session without telling them. But it cut deep.
They had started this dream together. So why did CJ get to take the elevator while they waited for the stairs?
He channeled his anger into beats. His small laptop and old software couldn't compete with professional studios—but it was his. He crafted a gritty instrumental late one night and titled it "Left Behind."
The bass hit hard. The drums were angry. The melody mourned.
He sent it anonymously to CJ's manager, just to see if it could break through.
---
James: The Quiet Storm
James was the wildcard. The dreamer who used to freestyle during lunch breaks, who once told CJ, "If one of us makes it, we all do."
But now, he wasn't so sure.
At school, people had started comparing them.
> "Why CJ and not you?"
"You got bars too, man. Step up!"
James didn't want CJ's spotlight. But he wanted something.
A verse. A shout-out. A single post that said, "James is next."
He got none of that.
So he started writing again. Alone. After dark. Verses darker than his usual playful style.
> "I was your echo in battles, your voice in the back,
But echoes fade when stars learn how to act.
I ain't bitter—I'm sharpened. The silence taught me,
That waiting your turn is how people forget you softly."
---
Together, Still... Barely
One Sunday, they met at their old rehearsal spot—the abandoned railway lot.
CJ didn't show up.
Instead, his manager had scheduled a podcast appearance.
They waited anyway.
Lulu paced. Charles threw rocks at rusted rails. James freestyled half-heartedly. Tico watched the sun dip behind the skyline.
No one said it.
But they all felt it:
CJ was leaving.
Not intentionally. Not maliciously.
But fame was a storm—and it rarely asked who it drowned.
---
Lulu Spoke First
"He still needs us," she said, voice strained. "He just doesn't know how to show it."
Charles scoffed. "Then maybe he doesn't deserve us."
"Don't say that," James murmured.
Tico finally broke his silence. "The question isn't whether he needs us. It's whether we still know who we are—without him."
Silence.
Then, as if on cue, CJ's voice echoed from a distance—his freestyle from the Pulse Finals playing on someone's phone nearby.
They listened, still.
Proud.
Wounded.
Loyal.
But unsure how long loyalty could survive in the backseat of someone else's rise.