The atmosphere inside the studio had changed.
The playful excitement of the first round was gone, replaced by something sharper—tenser. The audience could feel it even if they didn't understand why. The lights were brighter. The music cues tighter. The cameras lingered longer on faces.
This round mattered.
Backstage, the contestants stood in silence, twelve reduced to eight. Costumes rustled softly as performers shifted their weight, each hiding nerves behind masks and personas.
Avery stood still.
The Phoenix's crimson feathers glimmered faintly under the overhead lights, but beneath the costume, her body was relaxed. Her breathing was slow, even. To anyone watching, she looked like someone waiting—not someone worried.
Then her opponent was announced.
"And now," the host called dramatically, "the clash you've all been waiting for! The undefeated rock legend—The Lion—versus our mysterious challenger… The Phoenix!"
The crowd erupted.
The Lion stepped forward first.
He was massive—broad shoulders, thick arms, his costume a blazing gold mane surrounding a snarling lion's mask. Even standing still, he radiated dominance. This was a man who had ruled stadiums, who had screamed into microphones while tens of thousands screamed back.
A real rock god.
Julian Vane leaned toward his microphone, smiling for the cameras. "Now this is a real test," he said lightly. "Rock music isn't about precision. It's about instinct. About raw control."
His eyes flicked toward the Phoenix.
"Let's see if our mysterious singer can handle that."
Avery didn't look at him.
She stepped onto the stage.
The lights shifted—red, white, and electric blue slashed across the floor like lightning. The band's silhouettes appeared behind a veil of smoke.
Then the opening riff hit.
A sharp, dirty guitar chord ripped through the speakers.
Earth's "I Love Rock 'n' Roll."
The crowd screamed.
This wasn't a ballad.This wasn't safe.This was aggression.
Avery walked forward confidently, timing her steps perfectly to the beat.
Then—
Silence.
Inside her ear.
The world went wrong.
The backing track vanished from her monitor. Her own voice disappeared. No pitch reference. No rhythm guide. No ambient feedback.
Nothing.
For any singer—anyone trained under modern systems—this was a death sentence.
The audience saw it.
Just for a fraction of a second, Avery's step faltered.
A micro-stumble.
Barely noticeable.
But the cameras caught it.
Julian Vane did too.
His lips curled upward in a satisfied smirk.
Got you.
Backstage, the producer's hands clenched.
"Don't panic," he muttered. "Don't panic. Just let it happen."
In the control room, a technician wiped sweat from his brow, pretending to adjust sliders that no longer mattered.
On stage, the Lion roared into his microphone, perfectly in sync with the band.
"I saw him dancin' there by the record machine—"
The crowd surged, clapping, shouting, feeding off his energy.
Avery stood alone in silence.
For half a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
Her eyes sharpened.
Inside her mind, the Entertainment System activated smoothly, without urgency.
[Skill Active: Absolute Pitch Lock][Status: External Audio Reference — Not Required][Internal Rhythm Synchronization — 100%]
The silence stopped being a weakness.
It became clarity.
Avery felt the song instead of hearing it.
The pulse of the drums vibrated through the stage floor. The bass rolled through the air, shaking her ribs. The guitar's rhythm echoed in muscle memory—etched deep into her bones from another world, another life.
She lifted the microphone.
And sang.
"I love rock 'n' roll—"
Her voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Raw.Sharp.Unapologetic.
The audience gasped.
This wasn't polished pop.
This wasn't refined elegance.
This was grit.
Avery didn't just sing the lyrics—she claimed them. Her voice carried a husky edge, roughened just enough to sound dangerous, like a woman leaning against a jukebox in a smoke-filled bar, daring the world to challenge her.
The Lion's head snapped toward her.
His roar faltered—just slightly.
Because something was wrong.
She wasn't following the band.
The band was following her.
Julian's smirk faded.
"What…?" he muttered.
The camera zoomed in on Avery's mask.
Her posture was perfect. Her timing flawless. Not a single note off-key. Not a single beat missed.
Impossible.
The producer's face drained of color.
"She… she can't hear anything," he whispered. "She shouldn't be able to—"
Onstage, Avery stepped closer to the Lion, her voice rising, riding the chorus with feral confidence.
"Put another dime in the jukebox, baby—"
The crowd lost it.
People stood. Jumped. Screamed. The studio shook with energy. This wasn't just a performance anymore—it was a takeover.
The Lion tried to overpower her, pushing his volume higher, screaming louder.
Avery matched him.
No.
She surpassed him.
Her voice didn't scream.
It commanded.
[System Notification: Scene Stealer (Passive) — Activated.][Effect: Opponent Presence Suppressed.]
The Lion felt it.
For the first time in his career, he felt invisible on his own stage.
Back at the judging table, Mila Vance's eyes were blazing.
"She's not compensating," Mila whispered. "She's dominating."
Director Zhang leaned forward, hands shaking slightly. "She's singing rock without hearing the track… this is pure instinct."
Julian Vane said nothing.
Cold sweat trickled down his spine.
Because he knew.
He knew someone in the industry who sang like this.
Someone who didn't rely on monitors.
Someone who once told him—
If you take everything away from me, I'll still sing.
Onstage, Avery hit the final chorus, her voice rising, powerful, untamed.
"I love rock 'n' roll—so come and take your time and dance with me!"
The last note slammed down like a verdict.
The music cut.
Silence followed.
Then—
The audience exploded.
Julian stared at the Phoenix as if looking at a ghost.
And somewhere backstage, a Truth Recording Bug blinked quietly, capturing the sound of a producer whispering in panic:
"This… this wasn't supposed to happen."