"Whew! That was an amazing performance—don't you guys agree?" Cat exclaimed, swinging her handheld mic toward the audience.
The response was instant: thunderous screams and explosive applause.
Cat nodded, deeply satisfied. "I thought so."
She turned back toward the stage. "How about our dear evaluators? What do you all think of Yen and Zen's performance?"
"Oh, Lawd—I have been blessed," Tuesday declared, dramatically throwing one hand into the air. "Zennnnnn!" She leaned forward, eyes wide. "Who would've thought you were hiding that kind of power behind all that shy, timid baby-gurl energy? You stood there, gave us zero-chill realness, and I loved loved loved it!"
The audience burst into laughter as Zen turned beet red, ducking his head.
"And Yen! Excuse me, sirrrr," Tuesday continued. "Where did you even come from? You just walked in here with that velvety-soft voice and expected me to stay sane?" She placed a hand over her chest. "Because I did not. I felt that on a spiritual level. Mm-hm. Mm-hm-mm!" She snapped her fingers while slowly shaking her head, completely possessed.
"As dramatic as Tuesday is," Luca said with a grin, "she's absolutely right. Both of you did an incredible job showcasing your strengths. You're like yin and yang—individually powerful, but together?" He shook his head. "Limitless. You both raised the bar way fucking high tonight. Good shit."
His filter, clearly, had been yeeted into the abyss.
"Alright," Foca said, smiling softly. "I'll start with Zen."
Zen immediately straightened.
"You, sir, are a force to be reckoned with," Foca said. "Your voice soars—truly. But with great power comes great responsibility." He chuckled lightly. "There were moments where your power almost overpowered you."
Zen listened intently.
"I'm not saying you did badly—far from it. You were outstanding. But moving forward, your challenge is learning how to harness that power so it doesn't become unpredictable. So it doesn't turn from your friend into your foe. Alright?"
Zen nodded vigorously, then leaned over and whispered something to Yen.
"Zen wanted to say thank you for the feedback and critique," Yen relayed. "He said he'll do his best to learn and improve—so you can be even more proud of him."
Foca smiled warmly. "You're welcome. You did amazing. Keep growing." He nodded in approval.
"Now," Foca said, turning his attention, "Yen."
Yen visibly tensed.
"It says here on your information form…" Foca glanced down at his tablet. "That you wrote the song you guys just performed?"
"Um… yeah," Yen replied shyly.
Zen immediately pointed at him, hyping him up like, That's my brother.
"Well," Foca said, smiling, "I have to say—it's excellent."
The audience erupted into cheers. Yen bowed quickly, flustered but grateful.
"You have a very delicate writing ability," Foca continued. "It walks that fine line—pop but not overly pop, inspirational without becoming preachy or cringe. That balance is hard to achieve, and you did it beautifully."
Yen nodded, taking it all in.
"Vocally," Foca went on, "you're actually the opposite of Zen. You have too much control—to the point where you're almost suffocating your own voice. I understand why; you're subconsciously anchoring yourself to support your brother. But in doing so, you're holding yourself back."
Yen's eyes widened slightly.
"Your assignment," Foca said gently, "is to learn how to let go. Trust your voice. Let your power breathe."
"Yes," Yen said firmly, nodding. "Thank you. I'll work hard on that."
"Wait!" Tuesday suddenly cut in.
Every head turned toward her.
"Before we move on," she said, leaning forward, "I just need to say something."
The room went quiet.
"Both of you—listen to me very carefully," she said, pointing at Yen and Zen. "People don't have to like you. They don't have to love you. Hell, they don't even have to respect you."
The audience leaned in.
"But when you look in the mirror," she said, voice firm, "you better love what you see. You better love what you see."
The theater erupted once more in thunderous applause.
Yen and Zen bowed deeply, eyes shining, hearts full—standing tall in the moment they had earned.
"Thank you, evaluators," Cat said brightly, clapping her hands together before turning to the brothers. "You both did amazing. Please head backstage—catch your breath, ugly cry if you need to. We fully support emotional hydration here."
"DRINK WATER AND MIND YOUR BUSINESS!" Tuesday hollered.
The room erupted in laughter—again.
"As for everyone else," Cat continued, turning toward the audience and the cameras, "don't go anywhere. When we come back, we'll see how the next set of contestants stacks up against a performance that—let's be honest—just raised the damn standard."
Yen and Zen bowed one last time before exiting the stage.
Backstage, the second the lights dimmed behind them, Zen let out a shaky breath—then laughed. Soft. Airy. But real.
"You did amazing," Yen said immediately, not even letting the moment breathe.
Zen shook his head, eyes bright, chest still rising too fast. He reached out and tapped Yen's chest once—firm, grounding.
"No," Zen said. Louder than usual. Clearer than usual. Enough that everyone nearby heard his naturally soft, airy speaking voice.
"You did."
Behind them, a producer murmured urgently into a headset, eyes glued to the monitors.
"Yeah… keep the cameras on them. People are already attached."
And somewhere online, timelines were imploding. Fan accounts were being born in real time, hashtags climbing the trending list like fate with Wi-Fi and a mission.
Because whether the industry was ready or not—
Yen and Zen had officially arrived.