A Newfound Resolve

Allen sat at his desk, staring at the numbers on the screen. The stream count for Fading Lights was still climbing steadily on Botify, now sitting at over 30,000. It was exciting, of course—beyond anything he'd ever imagined—but the thrill of it was starting to fade, replaced by a creeping sense of inadequacy.

He clicked away from the screen and opened the system's interface again. The familiar blue menu flashed up, his stats laid out in front of him, reminding him of just how far he still had to go.

Vocal Talent: 5/10

Guitar: 3/10

Songwriting: 3/10

Charisma: 4/10

Appearance: 4/10

Intelligence: 5/10

He had come a long way, no doubt about that. But the more he stared at those numbers, the more obvious it became that he wasn't ready for what was coming next. The showcase at The Hive was just two weeks away, and Allen had signed up with a burst of confidence he wasn't sure he had earned. His vocal talent had improved, but his guitar playing and songwriting were still painfully average. And charisma? He wasn't even sure how to improve that beyond just… not being awkward in public.

Allen ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him. He had 800 showbiz points left—far from enough to make any significant upgrades. It was becoming clear that he couldn't rely on the system to magically make him better. He'd have to put in the work himself.

His phone buzzed, breaking his thoughts. It was a reminder for the showcase, a little notification that had been lingering on his calendar for weeks. Two weeks. He had two weeks to get his act together.

With a deep breath, Allen stood up and walked over to where his guitar sat, leaning against the wall in the corner of his room. It hadn't seen much action in the past few days, mostly because every time he picked it up, he ended up getting frustrated with his own lack of progress. But if he was going to get better, there was no avoiding it.

He grabbed the guitar, sat down, and started strumming through some basic scales. His fingers were rusty, stumbling over the strings like they didn't quite remember where they were supposed to go. It was humbling, realizing just how far he still had to go in order to play at the level he wanted. Sure, he could hit a few chords and play along to some of his songs, but there was nothing special about his guitar playing—nothing that would make anyone stop and listen.

After about an hour of practice, his fingers were sore, and his frustration was mounting. It wasn't that he wasn't improving—it was just that the improvement felt glacially slow. Every time he hit a wrong note or messed up a transition, it felt like taking two steps back for every one step forward.

"This isn't enough," Allen muttered to himself, setting the guitar aside. He knew he needed help. He couldn't just grind through this on his own and expect to improve at the rate he needed to. If he was serious about performing live and making a name for himself, he'd have to get outside his comfort zone and seek out real guidance.

The idea of getting a guitar teacher wasn't something Allen had seriously considered before. But now, it seemed like the only logical option. The system had given him a leg up in some areas, but it wasn't going to do everything for him. He needed to invest in himself if he wanted to make real progress.

After a quick search online, he found a couple of local music teachers who offered lessons. One of them specialized in rock and pop guitar—perfect for the kind of music Allen was making. He bookmarked the page and made a mental note to reach out for a trial lesson.

As he sat back down at his desk, his mind wandered to the other areas he needed to improve. Guitar was one thing, but what about songwriting? The system had given him a solid 3/10 in that department, which wasn't awful, but it wasn't great either. And songwriting wasn't something you could just learn by watching a few videos or reading a book. It required creativity, practice, and, most importantly, feedback from other musicians.

Allen stared at the blank document open on his laptop—an attempt at a new song he had started a few days ago but hadn't made much progress on. The lyrics felt forced, the melody uninspired. He'd been stuck in this rut for weeks, and it was starting to get to him.

"Alright," he muttered, closing the document with a sigh. "Time to stop messing around."

If he was going to improve as a songwriter, he needed to get outside opinions. He couldn't keep writing in a bubble, relying solely on the system to tell him what worked and what didn't. He needed to get out there, collaborate, and learn from people who were better than him.

The thought made him nervous, but there was no avoiding it. He'd have to push through his comfort zone if he wanted to stand out at the showcase.

Determined to take some kind of action, Allen pulled out his phone and shot a message to a local songwriter's group he had heard about. They met every week to critique each other's work and give feedback, which was exactly what Allen needed right now.

"Hey," he typed out, "I'm a songwriter and wanted to get some feedback on my music. Is it cool if I join the next meeting?"

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send. It felt weird putting himself out there like this, but if he didn't do it now, he knew he never would.

While waiting for a response, Allen thought about the other glaring issue: his stage presence. He had performed a few times in small venues, but every time he got on stage, he felt like his energy wasn't where it needed to be. He didn't have that magnetic pull that some performers seemed to have naturally—the kind of charisma that made people want to watch you, even if you weren't doing anything particularly special.

He had seen performers with less talent completely own a stage, simply because they knew how to engage a crowd. That was something Allen desperately needed to work on if he wanted to make a lasting impression at The Hive showcase. But how? How did you learn to be charismatic?

He opened up his laptop again and started searching for anything that could help. Public speaking classes, improv workshops—anything that would push him to be more confident and engaging in front of an audience. After a bit of browsing, he found a local improv group that held classes for beginners. It wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a perfect fit. Improv would force him to think on his feet, to be comfortable in front of an audience, and, most importantly, to stop overthinking every little thing.

"Guess that's the next step," Allen muttered, bookmarking the page for the improv class.

As the day wore on, Allen's frustration started to ease, replaced by a growing sense of determination. He wasn't going to let his lack of points or skills hold him back. There was too much at stake now. The showcase was just around the corner, and if he wanted to stand out, he had to push himself harder than he ever had before.

Guitar lessons, songwriting workshops, and improv classes—it was all part of the plan now. No more coasting, no more waiting for the system to magically fix everything. This was on him. If he wanted to be the kind of performer who could truly make it, he'd have to put in the work.

He glanced at his guitar one last time before standing up. His fingers were still sore, but he welcomed the feeling. It was a reminder that progress, even if it was slow, was still progress.

"Alright," he said to himself, feeling a new sense of determination. "Time to get to work."