Ray

For years, Solfa's life was like a perfectly tuned score: from the age of six, she was called an "angelic" voice, and the band was her second family. Everything collapsed the day Ray walked into the rehearsal room.

He appeared as if the building already belonged to him: leather jacket, unkempt hair, a look of icy disdain. Talented, but unbearable. That Monday, Solfa's throat hurt—a note slipped, and Rey, unable to restrain himself, mocked her in front of everyone: "a fragile doll, not up to the professional level." Since then, there's been a war between them: caustic remarks and a battle for positions.

The entire team was gathered in the hall.

Maestro Gromov: "Silence!" Our chance is the Global Vocal Competition. One duet will go. We've chosen the best—despite... personal differences.

The maestro looked at them.

Maestro: Solfa. Rey. You are a duet. Learn to breathe in unison, otherwise the chance will be lost.

Ray: (smirking, folding his arms) - Are you kidding? Me with this "sissy"? She could ruin the finale if her kitten suddenly sneezes.

Solfa: (sharply, clenching her fists) - My throat is fine, Rey! I'd sing with anyone, even a metronome - they don't have an inflated ego. You've been ruining the atmosphere since day one.

Ray: (stepping toward her, whispering) "My ego is bolstered by talent. Your 'angelic voice' will be lost without me. Either work yourself to the bone, or step back and let me win."