Chapter 2

"What is she doing here?" Ray muttered under his breath the moment the pastor read the name and his eyes caught sight of her.

His partner glanced over, a mischievous glint already forming in her eye. "You wanna get her autograph or something?"

"What? No," Ray stammered, suddenly flustered, "I don't even have anything related to her."

Without missing a beat, she reached into her tote bag like she'd been waiting for this moment all evening. In one smooth motion, she fanned out a small stack of high-quality photo prints. Each one of Amaya Chiyoko in different outfits, different angles, different lighting, like it was some kind of magic card trick.

"Which one do you fancy more?" she asked, flashing a playful grin.

Ray stared at her, equal parts amused and disturbed. "Do you... always carry her photos around in that bag?"

"Of course," she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You never know when you'll meet someone famous. I've got photos of other people too! Wanna see?"

Her hand was already reaching back into the bag.

Ray raised both palms like she had a weapon. "No. I believe you. Please don't prove it."

"But," he added with a sigh, "I still don't want her autograph."

She gasped dramatically, clutching the photos like a scandalized fan, but before she could protest, the hum of instruments began to swell through the monitors.

Ray's expression changed in an instant. His attention turned back to his console. His eyes flicked across the touchscreen controls, his fingers immediately moving to the channel faders. The first few notes of the worship song bloomed across the feed, the soft strum of an acoustic guitar blending with a warm pad from the keyboard.

He dragged his finger gently along the guitar's fader, raising it just enough to sit above the pad without overpowering it. The kick drum entered next, but a little flat in the low end. He reached for the PEQ settings and gave the low frequencies a slight bump, then narrowed the Q-band to tame a harsh resonance on the snare. Then, one by one, the singers began.

Ray leaned in, closing his eyes for a second to listen more carefully. He isolated each vocal channel through his headphones, turning the pan slightly on one male voice to keep it from overlapping too closely with a female harmony.

He dipped the highs on one mic, boosted the mids on another. Some were coming in a bit strong so he adjusted the gain accordingly, smoothing them out to blend as one unified sound. A female vocalist hit a slightly breathy note, and Ray instinctively rolled off a little high end to clean the sibilance without dulling her tone.

The bridge came in which was a gentle, almost whispered moment in the song. Ray lowered the entire mix slightly, letting the vocals breathe. The keyboard shimmered in the background like sunlight on water, thanks to a subtle reverb he added mid-performance.

Then came the chorus. Without missing a beat, Ray nudged the faders back up. He gave the electrical guitar more presence, let the harmonies bloom, and ensured that the lead voice cut through the wall of sound just enough to lead the worship, not fight against it.

All the while, his partner sat beside him with her earbuds in, listening to the live mix. Her teasing was gone for now, replaced by quiet admiration as Ray's hands moved swiftly, deliberately, like a pianist performing in total sync with the music.

Ray stayed focused, his fingers dancing over the faders and knobs with steady precision. He rode the final swell of the chorus like a wave, catching the decrescendo just right as the instruments began to fade out. When the last note gently dissolved into silence, he exhaled and pulled his headset off, resting it around his neck with a quiet clack. The pastor's voice followed almost immediately, low and reverent, beginning the closing prayer. A soft piano melody began to play in the background, gentle and unobtrusive, like a musical whisper.

Ray leaned in, pulled up the keyboard's channel, and gave it a slight boost. Just enough to fill the space without drowning the words. Then, with practiced ease, he brought the pastor's mic up in the mix, making sure every word rang clearly through the system. No hiss, no distortion, just clean, focused speech.

One by one, he muted the other channels, the guitars, the backup mics, the pads, leaving only the piano and the pastor. Beside him, his partner glanced toward the monitor rig they'd been using to observe the livestream's levels.

"Should I start fixing this?" she asked, gesturing to the cluttered desktop full of open windows and overlapping meters.

"Yeah, please," Ray murmured, eyes still glued to the screen. One hand hovered near the master fader, the other already fine-tuning the EQ slightly as the pastor's voice shifted in tone. Once the pastor finished speaking, Ray reached for the console one last time. He began muting everything, first the instruments, then each microphone one by one.

He pressed Shut Down on his laptop, the fans letting out a soft whirr as the system powered off. Then came the familiar ritual: unplugging each cable carefully, coiling them with practiced fingers, making sure none of them twisted or bent the wrong way. He slid each wire into its designated pouch before finally slipping the laptop into his bag with a soft zip.

As he turned to leave, he noticed the other laptop, the monitoring one, resting nearby with its charger draped lazily over it. "Here. Good work again today."

His partner handed him the laptop bag with a small smile before casually walking out of the booth. Ray nodded in thanks, watching her leave before fixing the monitor laptop as well. He walked out of the booth after finishing cleaning up.

The hallway buzzed with life. Conversations overlapped, footsteps echoed, and children darted playfully between the adults. Ray headed toward the familiar spot, the little area where snacks were usually served after the service and where his friends always gathered before heading out.

But as he turned the corner, he paused. There was a line, and Ray already knew why it was there. He let out a sigh. He started to scan the room. And sure enough, there was the snack table, same as always, juice box, and light snacks lined up neatly. Only this time, it wasn't surrounded by people. Ray started walking toward it anyway, his goal was simple. It was to get food.

Then, "Hey," a hand landed firmly on his shoulder, halting his steps.

Ray turned around, blinking in surprise. A man stood behind him, wearing a friendly enough expression, but clearly trying to be polite while firm.

"Did I... do something wrong?" Ray asked, puzzled.

"You need to get in line," the man replied, gesturing toward the back of the long queue.

Ray tilted his head, pointing instead at the table in the distance. "I just want to get food."

The man followed Ray's finger, eyes settling on the food table, which clearly wasn't where the line was headed.

"Oh! Sorry, my bad. I thought you were trying to cut in line." He chuckled sheepishly, already stepping back.

Ray gave him a small smile. "No problem. Enjoy your autograph session."

With that, he turned and continued toward the snack table, his mission back on track. He grabbed a small pack of cookies, just five inside, and a bottle of orange juice. With his loot in hand, he made his way to a nearby wall and leaned against it, popping the first cookie into his mouth.

His eyes drifted back toward the autograph line. If anything, it looked longer than before. Had it grown since he last checked? He let out a small sigh through his nose. Then he saw a group of familiar faces heading his way, grinning like they just won the lottery. A single drop of sweat slid down his cheek.

"Yo, Ray! Why aren't you lining up?" Jack asked, still glued to the signed photo in his hand.

Ray barely glanced at him as he reached into the cookie pack. "Food is a lot more important than an autograph, Jack."

Before he could take a bite, another photo was suddenly shoved in front of his face.

"That's just your hunger talking. Here, I got this one for you," Elara said, smirking as she waggled the photo of Amaya Chiyoko like a bribe.

Ray stared blankly at it, then at her. "I already told you, Elara, I don't want her autograph."

A dramatic gasp burst from nearby, "How can a friend of mine not want an autograph from one of the top models, actresses and singers?!" Noelle exclaimed, clutching her chest like he'd just committed a personal crime.

"She isn't top one, Noelle. Don't exaggerate," Ray replied coolly, opening his juice bottle and taking a sip.

"Still, it's kinda wild that you don't want an autograph, considering how famous she is," Jack added, carefully sliding his signed photo into his bag like it was some priceless relic.

Ray held up a finger as he chewed, signaling them to wait. After swallowing, he calmly said, "Just because she's famous doesn't mean everyone wants her autograph."

He grabbed the last cookie from his pack while his friends launched into full-on banter mode, peppering him with jabs and arguments about fandom and missed opportunities. He didn't hear most of it. His eyes were locked on the snack table again.

"Should I get another pack...?" He was already half-ignoring their voices. In his mind, an autograph lost its novelty over time. Cookies did not.

But before he could make his move, he saw several people already swarming the snack table, snatching up the remaining packs. He let out another sigh.

"Hey! Are you even listening?" Noelle huffed, hands on her hips.

Ray blinked out of his cookie-related grief. "Sorry, what were you saying?" he asked dryly, taking his final bite.

Noelle looked ready to unleash fury, but Jack calmly placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a pitying look. "He's a lost cause. Don't bother," he said with a gentle smile.

Ray rolled his eyes and headed to the nearby trash bin, tossing the crinkled cookie wrapper and empty juice box. As he turned to rejoin his group, he heard a chorus of shrill screams. Instinctively, his body tensed, head snapping toward the source. And it was just his friends again, being fanatics.

He scanned the area, eyes moving quickly as he searched for his parents. He wanted to avoid her, and fortunately, he spotted them near the other side of the room. Before he could even start walking towards them, he heard his name being shouted.

"Ray! Come over here!" Elara's voice rose above the background chatter. She waved at him with both hands, her smile far too energetic for his current mood.

He sighed again, his third or fourth time today, and definitely not the last. He was sighing way too much for one afternoon. Still, he knew he couldn't just ignore her. If he did, she'd probably just start shouting louder, and the last thing he needed was to hear his name echoing across the entire hall like a public announcement. So, with reluctant steps, he turned around and walked back toward his friends.