Chapter 3: Showdown at King of Kids’ Songs

I put on my mask and showed up at the TV station’s studio again. The air buzzed with nerves and the smell of stage makeup. Contestants milled around backstage, some pacing, others lost in their own worlds.

On stage, the host’s voice rang out.

“Welcome back, everyone, to the national finals of ‘King of Kids’ Songs.’ I’m your host, Brian Jennings!” Brian was all toothy smiles and perfect hair, the kind of guy who could make reading a grocery list sound exciting.

He continued, “After two and a half months of fierce competition, we’ve finally reached the finals. Let’s give a big hand to our eight finalists!” The applause was thunderous, echoing off the studio walls.

“Contestant 1, Autumn Sinclair, the dark horse of this season. Unknown at first, she’s fought her way into the top eight.”

“Contestant 2, the masked singer Mr. C, who pulled off an amazing feat in the last round.”

At this, the crowd went wild. The energy in the room was electric, a living thing that made my heart pound in my chest.

“In the last round, a music historian deliberately tested the contestants with a five-line staff dug up from a Civil War–era time capsule. Mr. C actually recognized it.”

“I didn’t watch that episode, but my friends told me about it. No way, is he really the genius who could read the five-line staff?”

“The five-line staff is legendary—I can’t believe it actually exists!”

“Experts spent decades figuring it out, and this guy just rattled it off!”

Autumn glanced at me and said proudly, “This competition is about the songs. Your little tricks won’t help. Besides, I have a Grammy-winning songwriter backing me. What do you have to bring to the table?” Her words were sharp, but I could see the uncertainty flicker in her eyes, just for a second.

I chuckled softly and said nothing. I let her stew.

I was really curious—what would her face look like when I finally took off the mask? I pictured her jaw dropping, the shock in her eyes. The thought made me smile.

After all eight contestants were introduced, the competition officially began. The lights dimmed, and the tension in the room ramped up another notch.

Autumn was up first.

She had a completely different style on stage—all dimples and innocence. Her dress, pastel pink.

“Hello, judges. I’m contestant number one, Autumn Sinclair. Today, I’ll be performing an original song called ‘Little Bunny’!” Her voice was light and musical, perfectly pitched for the cameras.

To spice up the show, the producers made a new rule: starting at the finals, all songs had to be brand-new originals that fit the theme. It was a clever twist, forcing everyone to dig deep or crash and burn.

This week’s theme: rabbits.

Cheers erupted in the studio. Someone in the back waved a giant foam bunny ear. I couldn’t help but grin.

The comment section and live chat blew up too.

“Autumn, we’ll always support you!”

“So cute! If I could marry her, I’d give up my sports car and penthouse in a heartbeat!”

“Bro, you just want everything!”

“Another original from Autumn?”

“Her songs are all from the label, right?”

“So what if she doesn’t write them herself? As long as it follows the rules.”

The song info slowly appeared on the big screen.

‘Little Bunny’

Lyrics: Jason Grant

Music: Jason Grant

Arrangement: Jason Grant

Vocals: Autumn Sinclair

Seeing the songwriter’s name, I couldn’t help clenching my fists. My nails bit into my palms, but I didn’t let go. Acid rose in my throat.

Jason Grant was the label’s Grammy-winning songwriter. He shamelessly pursued Autumn even though he knew she was married, and with Denise’s help, the two of them finally got what they wanted. The memory left a bitter taste in my mouth.

A cheerful intro played. The melody was bouncy, almost annoyingly so.

Autumn started singing.

Little bunny, so white, so white

Two ears stand up high

Cut the veins, then the arteries

Still as can be, oh how cute

I didn’t feel a thing. I’d gotten used to it by now. The lyrics were so off-kilter, it was almost surreal. How did nobody else notice?

Kids’ songs in this world were just that bizarre. Even though everyone’s tastes were about the same, the songs people wrote always turned out weird. It was like living in a parallel universe where nothing quite made sense.

“So good!”

“She’ll definitely make the top four!”

“Autumn is sure to be the next queen!”

“Dang, that’s brutal but catchy!”

The audience gasped in surprise. A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but the applause didn’t falter.

Host Brian Jennings was just as amazed. “I never expected Autumn to deliver such a great performance this round!” He beamed at her, his enthusiasm infectious.

Denise clenched her fists excitedly. She could barely contain her glee. “Kicking Chris to the curb was definitely the right move!” she whispered to someone beside her.

That was the whole song.

Autumn sang it three times in a row. Each time, her voice grew more confident, her stage presence more dazzling. The crowd ate it up.

I really wanted to say, This is a kids’ song? But I bit my tongue, saving my words for when it mattered.

The song ended.

Brian Jennings strode onto the stage. “Three-minute countdown—please vote!” He gestured wide to the audience, the tension building once again.

After each performance, there was a three-minute voting period. If your total votes ranked in the top four, you advanced to the finals. The rules were simple, but the stakes couldn’t be higher.

Five hundred people. All eyes on us.

The vote count on the big screen shot up fast. Numbers flashed and climbed, the excitement in the room palpable.

The countdown ended. Fast.

Brian Jennings announced, “Congratulations, Autumn Sinclair! You’ve received 392 votes from the audience and 219,347 online votes!” His voice rang out, clear and triumphant.

Applause filled the studio. The sound was deafening, washing over Autumn like a tidal wave.

Autumn bowed deeply to the audience, then shot me a defiant look. Her eyes sparkled. Daring me to try and beat her.

At that moment, the camera panned to a young man in the crowd.

Jason Grant, the songwriter, sat with a smug smile, arms crossed, as if he already owned the place. The spotlight hit him, and for a moment, the whole world seemed to hold its breath.