3rd Person POV

  “Yo, listen… This is about Schwarz and Alonzo, bruh. This ain’t petty beef, this is a saga.”

  Nickie leaned in. “Spill it, Hashmi. What went down?”

  “I knew that’d get your attention.” Hashmi grinned and threw his hands up like a ringmaster.

  “Alright. I didn’t clock him at first, but after seeing him up close at your last gig, the memory came back. Karklins, you weren’t here in middle school. Picture this: Adam Schwarz, the ninth-grade ghost, rolls back into school after vanishing for almost a year. Held back a grade. Nobody knows where he’s been. Turtlenecks and gloves in the middle of spring, like he’s auditioning for a vampire spy flick. But the vibe? Pure rage. You could feel it.”

  Nishinoya interrupted. “He just showed up mad at the world?”

  “Yo, mad don’t even cover it,”

  Hashmi shot back.

  “Fuck uniform, skipping class, chain-smoking on the roof, flippin’ off teachers, throwing a girl’s school bag out the window… straight chaos. Then one day, coming down from his smoke spot: Alonzo. They were in the same year before Adam got held back. So, dude pipes up with, ‘Yo, check out turtleneck boy in this heat. What’s he hiding under there?’ Him and his crew crack up-”

  Nickie winced.

  “Oof. Bad move.”

  “Hella bad move,” Hashmi said.

  “Adam snaps. Jumps him like a wild animal, screaming, throwing fists, ‘I’m gonna crush your fucking skull!’ full rage mode. But Alonzo? Tough as nails. Takes a punch like a wall and drops Adam with one hit. Lights out.”

  Nishinoya whistled. “Damn. Over a dumb comment?”

  “That’s the thing! Nobody really knows the why. After the fight, the rumor mill went turbo. People whisperin’ Schwarz was in a fire, got burns all over. Others say he got jumped by a gang and lost his nails in some messed-up torture thing. I even heard some clown say he was kidnapped by a cult.”

  Nishinoya was skeptical. “C’mon. Obviously blown out of proportion.”

  “Believe what you want, man. No one knows.” Hashmi retaliated.

  But Nickie’s jaw went slack.

  Nails.

  Her mind flickered:

  Adam’s crooked ones, the finger sleeves he always wore when playing.

  The black nail polish.

  She’d seen those fingers up close, patched the raw skin when the sleeves tore, felt the scars that ink now covered.

  Maybe the paint made the nails stronger.

  The ink was another kind of armor.

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  ‘No. I know it is.’

  And now his pain was bleeding through in someone else’s story.

  “That’s… dark,” she managed.

  “Right? Sick stuff,” Hashmi nodded.

  “But here’s where it flips: Alonzo shuts it all down. Word is, he saw something when he carried Schwarz to the nurse’s office. Never told a soul. Just told people to zip it. Schwarz didn’t get expelled, they went from fists to ‘Sup, bro’ in the halls.”

  Nishinoya frowned. “Covering for him? After that?”

  “Big time,” Hashmi said. “Honor code. Keeper of the vault. Whatever went down before Schwartz came back, it messed him up good… And Alonzo’s the one guy who knows more than he’s saying.”

  ‘Knocked Adam out? Carried him to the nurse’s office?’

  Nickie had a hard time imagining it. But she still couldn’t write it off as just a rumor.

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  Nishinoya was quiet for a beat, then spoke, brow furrowed.

  “I remember something like that… only…” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “I guess he was a lot shorter then, ‘cause they talked about a little emo kid trying to punch a bigger guy-”

  He didn’t get to finish.

  ***

  Soft spot

  “Drummer girl!”

  Alex Kenes, the editor of Dieforsteel, the online magazine that had been buzzing around the local scene like a tattooed hornet- approached them out of nowhere.

  Tablet tucked under his arm, sunglasses pushed up into his hair despite the fact that it was definitely dark out.

  The guy oozed confidence.

  Too much, maybe.

  He stopped in front of them with a smirk.

  “You’re making a habit of showing up wherever the action is.”

  Nickie crossed her arms, one brow arching high.

  “Funny. I could say the same about you.”

  Alex chuckled. It wasn’t mocking, just amused.

  “Touché. But it’s my job to keep tabs on promising talent.”

  He shifted the tablet to his other hand.

  “Speaking of which: REAPERAND. That last gig?”

  He tapped his temple.

  “Still stuck in here. That groove during Collapse? Unreal. You’ve got control and chaos. That’s rare.”

  Nickie blinked.

  She wasn’t used to scene editors giving praise other than the empty “good set” kind.

  Though she did remember his words at REAPERAND’s first gig.

  “Thanks,” she said after a beat. “We like to keep things heavy. Everything else grows from there.”

  Alex’s smirk softened into something more genuine.

  “You guys have something special. Believe me, I don’t say that lightly. There’s a buzz. People are talking. You’re not just another loud group in a basement… you’re making impact.”

  The words hit like a drumstick between the ribs.

  Pride, maybe.

  Or maybe pressure.

  She glanced sideways: Nishinoya and Hashmi were frozen, eyes wide.

  Hashmi looked like he was about to explode.

  Nishinoya looked like he was filing this away for a later autopsy.

  “Appreciate it, Mr. Editor,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “We’ll keep at it.”

  Alex gave her a grin that looked almost impressed.

  “I’m sure you will. Let me know when you’re playing next. I’ll make sure the right eyes are watching.”

  Then he slipped back into the crowd like he was never there at all.

  There was a pause.

  “Okay. WHAT. THE HELL. JUST HAPPENED,” Hashmi blurted.

  Nishinoya muttered, “We’re gonna have to write press releases now, aren’t we?”

  “Man, you know everyone!” Hashmi said, eyes wide.

  “That’s the kind of friendly person I am,” Nickie snickered.

  “Come on!” Nishinoya cut in. “You didn’t say a word to anyone in class for the first two months of school.”

  “That’s true. You were for real hard to approach bro,” Hashmi added.

  Nickie shrugged. “That’s also the kind of friendly person I am.”

  “Heh.”

  Hashmi suddenly lit up like he’d just remembered state secrets.

  “But lemme hit you with another piece of intriguing info: Alex Kenes from Dieforsteel. Nishinoya, you heard of him?”

  Nishinoya furrowed his brow. “Not really. Some editor guy?”

  Hashmi gasped like he’d been personally insulted.

  “Bruh. Editor? That dude’s the guy. Like, kingpin of the scene. One good review from him? Boom. You’re a legend. One bad take? RIP your band’s future. He’ll wreck your career with, like, three sentences. Dude’s ruthless.”

  Nickie raised an eyebrow. “So what’s so intriguing about him?”

  Hashmi leaned in, eyes gleaming.

  “That,” he said, drawing the word out like a drumroll, “he’s got a soft spot for Karklins here.”

  Nishinoya’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

  “It’s true,” Hashmi said, pointing at Nickie with both hands like he was presenting a rare artifact.

  “Word is, he caught one of REAPERAND’s first gigs and gave y’all a shoutout. Said something about your drumming being ‘unreal.’ And trust me, that man does not hand out compliments. You’re on his radar, girl.”

  Nickie shifted.

  That “soft spot” thing sat wrong in her chest.

  She hated when people looked at her like she was becoming something she hadn’t agreed to become yet.

  “He just liked the music. That’s all.”

  “Pfft, yeah, sure,” Hashmi shot back fast, like talking over her would make it more true. “Maybe he liked the music… or maybe he sees something in you. Either way? You’re kinda a big deal. You feel me?”

  Nickie sighed. “How do you even know all this, Hashmi?”

  Hashmi leaned back with a grin so smug it needed its own seat.

  “Hey, I’m just naturally curious, alright? Healthily curious. It’s not gossip… It's research.”

  Nickie rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

  “Uh-huh.”