Kashchentsovs (a surname)

Danya was one of those inconspicuous guys who lived for music in his tiny room. His worn-out guitar was an extension of his soul, and his fingers knew every string better than any textbook. No one knew his name, but his riffs lived within the walls of his apartment. Then one day, while browsing old ads on a music forum, he stumbled upon a post: "Famous artist Ruslan (SMN) is looking for a guitarist for a new project. Experience and a desire to create are welcome."

Ruslan. His name was on everyone's lips, his songs played in every club, and to Danya, he was almost a mythical figure. The odds were one in a million, but something told him to respond. A few days later, with a letter written in nervous sweat and an old gig bag slung over his shoulder, Danya was standing before the door of Ruslan's studio.

The studio turned out to be large and slightly dusty, with sheet music and instruments scattered everywhere—living proof of creative chaos. Ruslan himself, tall with a piercing gaze, sat at the mixing console, casting a brief, evaluating look at Danya.

"Well, you ready?" Ruslan asked, pointing toward the amplifier.

Danya nodded, his heart hammering in his temples. He plugged in his guitar, and the room filled with the first chord. Ruslan raised an eyebrow, then nodded, signaling him to keep playing. And Danya played. All those years of solitude, all the sleepless nights with his guitar, all the dreams—it all poured out through the strings. He closed his eyes, immersing himself in a melody he had written in secret, imagining how it would sound on a big stage.

When he finished, silence hung in the studio. Ruslan slowly stood up, walked over to Danya, and tapped his finger on the neck of the guitar.

"Not bad. Very not bad," Ruslan smirked. "Now, let's try some of my stuff."