The stage was a mess of screens yet to hang. Regina barked instructions to the staff, pointed at the image-magnification walls, and reviewed the pre-recorded scenic graphics that Ronan’s agency had sent. After the LED headers were attached to the trusses, Regina spoke into her mic: “Let’s cue the graphics and music videos.”

Even though the videos were clear and color-intact, the AV crew stayed put. To them, the check was a success simply because the feeds were live and the audio synced up—but for Regina, who obsessed over every little detail until the universe made sense to her, success needed to be flawless.

From the other side of the stage, Flynn’s voice crackled through the microphone. “The video’s playing okay. Checked.”

“Where exactly is it looking ‘okay’ to you, Flynn?” Regina asked sharply while half the crew rolled their eyes. “The graphics belong on the side screens. The middle ones are reserved for live close-ups. Right now, all of them are playing the 2K unofficial videos.”

Flynn sighed. “This is just a tech check, Regina.”

“A check is supposed to catch everything, Flyn-n,” she replied, dragging out his name. “Play them again, correctly. And delete the bootlegs, we only promote official videos.”

Flynn laughed, the sound echoing through the empty venue. “That’s official behind-the-scenes footage, Regina. A little unprofessional of Ms. Perfectionist to not know that.”

Regina gnawed her chewing gum harder, her stress ball of choice. The blazing sun overhead was nothing to the fire igniting in her eyes behind her yellow-tinted sunglasses. “Why the hell is this echo lingering so long!” she yelled, the venue vibrating with the automated feedback of the speakers.

***

Once the video check was over, it was time for the pop-up toaster episode. Regina stood with a stopwatch near the blank trapdoor at the center of the stage. Flynn stood beside her, an iPad in hand, comparing the stage setup to the agency’s rider.

“The lift. Start!” Regina ordered, clicking the timer.

The platform shot upward. As soon as it aligned with the stage deck, Regina stopped the clock. “The song’s intro is 15.03 seconds. The lift stops at 16.51. So the in-ears will cue 0.25 seconds early. It’s a mess. Speed it up.”

“Leave it,” Flynn told the staff and turned to Regina. “It’s close enough. Ronan can start singing from inside the lift.”

“That would be ridiculous,” she replied. “Besides, that’s the opening song and everything needs to be perfect.”

“Ronan singing from the lift wouldn’t ruin your perfect show, Regina, for God’s sake,” Flynn countered, his calm exterior finally slipping. “Think about it, the fans will be more surprised this way.”

“Or they’ll be disappointed—”

Flynn pinched the bridge of his nose. “No fan is as toxic as you, Regina. Why the heck can’t you calm down for once and let everyone do their job in peace?”

The whole crew froze mid-task, staring at the scene as the silence stretched.

***

Ronan arrived earlier for soundcheck. He spent some time selecting songs with his agent before sending the list to Regina. Using the same information, Flynn ran over the positions with Ronan’s stage director. Meanwhile, everyone else worked on the bass lines and tuned Ronan’s signature acoustic guitar, placing it at the very edge of the stage deck.

The rehearsal went smoothly—so smoothly that an uneasy feeling prickled Flynn’s palms. Regina hadn’t criticized a single thing. After the soundcheck was over and Ronan went backstage for makeup and outfit check, the staff got an hour’s break before the fans arrived.

Flynn took this opportunity to buy an iced berry lemonade for Regina as a peace offering. Back in the production room, Regina was rewatching the soundcheck footage. When Flynn offered her the drink, she looked over his shoulder. On the monitor, the audio track carried a faint, high-pitched screech. Regina’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t say a word.

“I am sorry about earlier,” Flynn said softly, the plastic cup sweating against his palm.

“Shove your sorry down your back!” Regina snapped, eyes glued to the screen.

***

The evening came with a darker sky, but the venue buzzed with fans wearing sparkly outfits; some snapping pictures, others singing songs.

Once the clock hit 7:30, Ronan made his entrance. The first few performances went better than planned. Fans sang along, bodies swaying to the rhythm.

But an hour in, the screeching sound returned, mutating into a deafening squeal. The crowd erupted into a storm of complaints. Panicked, the audio team frantically pushed faders.

After listening to screaming agency representatives, Flynn rushed toward Regina. “We have to do something. This is getting worse!”

“It’s too late for that now. It needed to be done during the soundcheck,” Regina remarked with indifference.

“You knew this? How—why didn’t you fix it?”

Regina didn’t reply, only stared blankly at him. Ronan kept signaling, and someone yelled from the talkback channel: “Their ears are going to bleed!”

“Screw this,” Regina cursed under her breath. Her eyes locked onto the audio deck, tracing the glitch straight to the main output connection. Stepping in, she detached the music wire from the speaker and spoke into Ronan's earpiece: “Going acapella.”

The crowd went silent once the music died. On stage, Ronan didn’t miss a beat. Ever the sweetheart, he smiled warmly, walked to the edge of the stage, and sat down. He unslung his acoustic guitar from the stand, strummed a chord, and let his melodic voice fill the air. In seconds, thousands of voices joined him in perfect harmony.

Once the digital board calibrated back to a bearable hertz, Regina spoke into the comms. “Bringing the tracks back in.”

As the smooth audio track seamlessly layered back over the crowd’s voices, Regina slowly lowered her headset. Flynn stood frozen, watching Regina orchestrate absolute perfection out of chaos.