Taking the Next Step

Allen sat on the edge of his bed, the guitar resting across his lap, fingers idly strumming a few chords as his mind drifted. The dingy little apartment felt a bit different now, like the space had expanded just slightly in his mind, filling with new possibilities. Last night's performance had somehow gone viral, and now, with the system urging him to write an original song, everything seemed like it was moving faster than he could grasp. But there was no going back now. He had to ride this wave or risk drowning in the background noise of Hollywood's endless hustle.

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long, dusty beams across the room. His phone buzzed intermittently with notifications, but Allen ignored it for the time being. He needed focus. He had a song to write, and with $500 and 2,000 Showbiz Points hanging in the balance, he couldn't afford to mess this up.

Allen rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the blank page in his notebook. Lyrics had always been the hardest part for him. He could play guitar well enough, and his voice had steadily improved, but putting his thoughts and emotions into words—words that would connect with people—was an entirely different beast. His mind raced through memories, stories, snippets of conversations, trying to find something that would click.

"What do people want to hear?" he mumbled to himself, tapping the pencil against the notebook. "What do I even have to say?"

For a moment, doubt crept in, wrapping around his thoughts like a thick fog. Who was he to think he could write something that mattered? Sure, people liked his busking, but an original song? That was a whole different level of vulnerability. He'd have to open up, let people in, and that was terrifying. He could already hear the criticism, the trolls, the inevitable judgment.

He shook his head, pushing the doubt aside. This wasn't the time for self-pity. The system had given him this chance, and he wasn't going to waste it. He thought back to last night's performance, how the crowd had gathered slowly, how their faces lit up when he played, how that pink-haired girl had stood there, recording him. He had to capture that feeling somehow.

He started with the chords, playing a simple progression, something mellow but catchy. It felt right, like it matched the mood he was going for—something introspective but not too heavy. His fingers moved over the strings effortlessly, thanks to the system's upgrades. Each note sounded clear and intentional, the melody building naturally as he played.

Now came the hard part. The lyrics. He stared at the blank page again, feeling the weight of it. He didn't want to write something generic, but he also didn't want to overthink it. He needed something honest, something that reflected where he was right now—caught between hope and fear, success and failure.

His pencil hovered over the page for a moment before he scribbled down a few lines:

"Standing on the edge, looking out, don't know if I'll fall or fly

The world's too big, but I'll take my shot,

Because there's no time to wonder why."

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. Allen repeated the lines to himself, singing them softly as he played the chords. It felt raw, but there was something there. He scribbled a few more lines, building off the theme of uncertainty and the need to take risks. This was his life now—no safety net, no guarantees, just the chance to make something of himself.

An hour passed, then another, as Allen worked through the song. He kept the structure simple, letting the melody carry the emotion while the lyrics remained direct and honest. By the time he finished the rough draft, his fingers were sore, and his voice was hoarse, but there was a sense of accomplishment settling in. The song wasn't perfect, but it was his. And that was enough for now.

Allen leaned back, letting the guitar rest against the bedframe as he stretched his arms overhead. His phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Benji.

"So, what's the next big move, Rockstar? Dropping an album soon?"

Allen chuckled, texting back, "One song at a time, man."

Benji responded almost instantly. "Well, that one song better be good, 'cause people are still talking about you. Video's at 200k views now. And someone shared it on one of those music forums—people are digging it!"

Allen's heart skipped a beat. 200,000 views? The numbers didn't even seem real. He hadn't fully processed the idea that all these strangers had seen him perform. And now they were waiting for more.

"Yeah, no pressure," Allen muttered to himself as he tossed his phone onto the bed. He knew he had to keep moving. One viral video wasn't enough to sustain a career. He had to keep pushing, keep performing, keep improving. And the next step was clear: busking again, but this time with his original song.

He stood up, grabbing his guitar and slinging it over his shoulder. The day outside was bright, the sky clear and blue as he stepped out of his apartment. Hollywood was buzzing, as always, with people rushing by, tourists snapping pictures, street performers scattered along the sidewalks. The familiar hum of the city filled the air, a constant reminder that he was just one small part of something much bigger.

Allen walked toward his usual busking spot, near a busy intersection where foot traffic was always high. He could already see a few performers setting up—someone juggling fire sticks, a man with a saxophone, and a group of breakdancers claiming their territory. It was always a bit of a free-for-all out here, but Allen had learned to navigate the chaos.

As he reached his spot, he noticed a few familiar faces in the crowd—people who had stopped to listen to him before. That was a good sign. Maybe some of them had seen the video. Maybe they'd be expecting something new.

Allen set down his guitar case and tuned his guitar, the nervous energy building in his chest. This was different from last night. This time, he wasn't just playing for himself. He was playing for all the people who had watched him online, for the crowd gathering in front of him, for the system that was pushing him toward something greater.

He took a deep breath, strumming the first chord of his new song. The familiar melody flowed from his fingers, steady and smooth. His voice, newly upgraded, felt stronger, more confident as he sang the opening lines.

"Standing on the edge, looking out, don't know if I'll fall or fly…"

The crowd wasn't huge at first, just a handful of people stopping to listen, but Allen didn't mind. He wasn't here to impress anyone. He was here to share his music, to prove to himself that he could do this.

As the song progressed, more people started to gather. A small group of tourists with shopping bags stopped in their tracks, drawn in by the sound. A couple walking their dog paused, nodding along to the melody. The crowd grew, little by little, until there were at least thirty people standing in front of him, listening intently.

Allen poured everything into the song, his voice carrying over the noise of the city. He could feel the connection, that invisible thread tying him to the crowd, the music bridging the gap between strangers. For a moment, he forgot about the system, about the quest, about the points. It was just him and the music, and that was enough.

As he reached the final chorus, he saw someone in the crowd holding up their phone, recording him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Another video, another chance for the world to hear him.

"Because there's no time to wonder why…" he sang, letting the final note linger in the air.

The small crowd erupted into applause, and Allen grinned, giving them a quick nod of thanks. His heart was pounding, his adrenaline still rushing, but it wasn't from fear or nerves. It was from the thrill of performing, of connecting with people through music.

As the crowd began to disperse, a few people lingered, dropping tips into his guitar case. He didn't make a fortune, but the satisfaction of knowing his original song had resonated with them was worth more than the cash.

Allen took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow as he packed up his guitar. The system pinged in the back of his mind, reminding him of the quest's reward. He wasn't sure if he'd earned the full 2,000 Showbiz Points yet, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd taken another step forward.

His phone buzzed again as he made his way back toward his apartment. It was a notification from his social media. The video of his performance was already making the rounds, gaining views and comments. Someone had tagged him in a post, praising the original song.

Allen smiled to himself. He was still far from where he wanted to be, but he was on the right path. And with the system at his back, guiding him, maybe—just maybe—he'd make it all the way.