Ben watches as the new kid stumbles through another mistake, his patience wearing thinner by the second. Rouge was force-fed this replacement after Avir walked out on them, and so far, it's been a disaster. Ben's face feels hot, rage bubbling just beneath the surface, and he can see everyone else in the room tensing up, waiting for him to explode.

His eyes lock onto the kid, and he leans in, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You think this is a fucking game? You think you can just waltz in here and half-ass your way through? We’ve poured our blood, sweat, and tears into this band, and I’ll be damned if I let some entitled brat fuck it all up." He can feel his hands shaking, trying to keep his temper in check.

He takes a deep breath, the words pouring out like a flood. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to stay up all night, your fingers bleeding from hours of practice, your voice hoarse from singing the same lines over and over again until they’re perfect? Have you felt the sheer exhaustion of dragging yourself to rehearsals day in and day out, even when every muscle in your body is screaming for rest? That’s what it takes. That’s the dedication we demand. You think you can stand here and coast by on sheer talent alone? Talent only gets you so far. The real work is in the grind, the relentless pursuit of perfection."

The room falls silent except for the hum of the amplifiers and the sound of Ben's heavy breathing. "One more slip-up, and you’re out. No more excuses. No more second chances. We’re in this together, and every weak link jeopardizes the whole chain. Do you understand?"

"I’ve seen too many people come and go, thinking they can handle this life, thinking they can cut corners and still make it. But this band, this music, it’s everything to us. It’s our heart and soul, and I won’t let anyone take that away. So prove to me that you’re worth it. Show me that you’re willing to fight for this as hard as we are."