Torch Of My Voice

For three grueling months, I trained my voice for a state network audition. When I finally taped a reel I was proud of, I rushed to Lucas, the broadcasting department president.

He paused it after ten seconds, tone flat. You lack natural talent. All this effort is wasted.

Instantly, his voice softened for Hailey, a struggling junior butchering a tongue twister nearby. Dont worry. Well go line by line until it feels right.

I stood frozen. Id won the university hosting championship while she ranked dead last. Yet he gave her patience and me only scorn.

Noticing my glare, Lucas frowned. He tossed a crumpled flyer for a senior poetry recital at me like spare change.

Hailey turned, offering an innocent, pitying smile. I clutched the paper and walked out without a word.

Half an hour later, I pushed into a community room smelling of joint patches. A young man in a crisp white shirt was teaching seniors vocal basics.

The moment he spoke, a jolt ran down my spine. Lucas always bragged about being top of his class.

But hearing this man speak was my first actual encounter with what pure, terrifying professional dominance sounded like.

An elderly woman in the front row slapped her thigh in sheer excitement. "Mr. Vance! With a voice like yours, you belong on the national broadcast!"

The man offered a faint, polite smile but didn't respond. His eyes swept across the room, landing directly on me hovering in the doorway.

"Are you going to grab a seat, or just stand there listening?"

I blinked, my grip tightening on the crumpled flyer, and hurried to an empty chair in the back corner.

For the entire hour, his lecture focused strictly on the connection between breath control and emotional resonance.

There was zero pretentious academic jargon. Every single sentence he spoke was a direct hit to the core of broadcasting.

When Lucas taught at the university, he obsessed over the "standard"standard pronunciation, standard pacing, standard inflection.

This man was teaching the "why."

When the class ended, the seniors slowly shuffled out.

I gathered my courage, walked up to the podium, and pulled out my phone.

"Excuse me. Could you possibly listen to my audition tape?"

He took the phone and hit play.

He didn't kill it after ten seconds like Lucas did.

He listened to the entire track.

Then he handed the phone back, delivering a single sentence that completely shattered my worldview.

"Your technique is flawless. Your breath is stable, your enunciation is precise, and your pacing is fully controlled."

"But you aren't confident."

I froze.

"Your vocal foundation is incredibly strong. But you are missing exactly one thingyou don't believe you are actually capable."

He looked at me. His gaze was incredibly calm, yet sharp as a razor.

"Someone who doesn't believe in their own voice will never convince an audience to believe a word they say."

I opened my mouth, but my throat was totally paralyzed.

Because he was absolutely, terrifyingly right.

For three entire years, right before I spoke, Lucas's voice would echo in my skull.

You have zero talent. Your voice is totally flat. You have no emotional range.

Over time, I had stopped trusting my own ears.

"My name is Sebastian."

He slid a printed schedule across the podium.

"Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at seven. If you decide to show up, remember one thing."

"Before you step foot through that door, you strip off every single voice out there that has ever told you no."

"In this room, the only thing that matters is what you are actually made of."

I took the paper and gave him a sharp nod.

As I walked out of the community center, my phone buzzed.

A text from Lucas.

[I was just being honest about your tape.]

[The state network audition is packed with heavy hitters. You'd just be a placeholder. I was doing you a favor by giving you a reality check.]

A second text immediately followed.

[Oh, by the way. I already talked to the department head about the internal campus qualifiers this Saturday. Don't bother registering.]

[We have a limited quota. We need to save the slots for people who are actually a good fit.]

I stared at the screen, the blood draining from my fingers.

The campus qualifiers?

The university was only given a limited number of recommendation letters to send students to the state network auditions. To get a letter, you had to pass the internal campus qualifiers.

And I had just discovered that the registration deadline was today.

I frantically opened the university portal. The registration portal was already locked.

Deadline: 5:00 PM today.

It was currently 8:40 PM.

I shot a text back to Lucas: [When exactly did you talk to the department? Why wasn't I informed?]

He replied instantly. [I told them last week. I knew you'd humiliate yourself up there, so I made the executive decision for you.]

[Stop throwing a tantrum. Just be a good girl and listen to me.]

My knuckles turned white around the glass of my phone.

He had forfeited my spot an entire week ago.

And he waited until the deadline passed to tell me.

I took a deep, shaking breath and dialed the department head, Professor Harris.

"Professor Harris, it's Aria. I just wanted to ask... is there any possible way to late-register for the campus qualifiers?"

The line was dead silent for two seconds.

"Aria? Lucas specifically told me you voluntarily withdrew. Honestly, I was totally confused."

"You won the university hosting championship. Technically speaking, you're our seeded competitor."

"I never withdrew."

"...Alright. I'll manually add your name to the roster tomorrow morning."

"But the list has already been publicly posted. You're registering after the deadline. People are probably going to complain."

"I don't care. Thank you, Professor."

I hung up the phone, leaned my back against the brick wall of the alley, and closed my eyes.

Lucas.

What the hell are you so terrified of?

The next morning, the news of my late registration spread like wildfire.

The broadcasting department group chat exploded.

Hailey was the first to chime in. [Wait? Didn't Aria say she was dropping out?]

Lucas immediately followed. [That was a miscommunication on my end. The department manually added her back in.]

His tone was incredibly casual, acting like making executive decisions about my career behind my back was perfectly normal.

Someone else replied. [But isn't the quota three out of six? Adding another competitor makes the pressure insane.]

Hailey sent a crying emoji. [Ughhh, I was already so nervous, now I'm practically having a panic attack.]

Lucas instantly replied to her. [Don't panic. I'll give you a private coaching session tonight. We'll run through the impromptu commentary section again.]

I stared at the chat log, completely silent.

At seven o'clock sharp, I walked into the senior activity room.

Sebastian wasn't wearing a dress shirt today. He had on a black crewneck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, writing on the chalkboard.

When he heard me walk in, he didn't even turn around.

"When are the qualifiers?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Timeline is tight. No group lecture today. I'm running you through a private simulation."

He turned around, leaning against the edge of the podium, crossing his arms.

"Impromptu commentary. I give you a prompt. You have thirty seconds to prep, two minutes to speak."

"Clock starts now. Prompt: 'Should young people sacrifice stability to pursue their dreams?'"

I inhaled sharply, my brain spinning at a million miles an hour.

Thirty seconds later, I opened my mouth.

Halfway through my first point, Sebastian cut me off.

"Stop."

I stared at him, my heart pounding.

He was frowning, but it wasn't a frown of disgust.

"Right when you hit your third sentence, your tempo suddenly spiked."

"Why?"

I thought about it for a second. "Because... I was terrified I sounded stupid, so I just wanted to get it over with."

Sebastian looked at me, his eyes growing dark and heavy.

"Aria, your content is flawless. Your logic is tight, your arguments are aggressive."

"But the second you panic, you subconsciously speed up. It sounds like you are running away."

"The judges don't give a damn how many words you cram in. They care about how absolutely certain you sound when you say them."

He picked up a piece of chalk and dragged a thick, solid line across the blackboard.

"Reset."

"Drop your voice into the ground. Do not let it float in the air."

I started from the top.

This time, I forced myself to leave a deliberate beat of breath between every single sentence.

When I finished, Sebastian didn't immediately critique me.

He hit play on a digital voice recorder sitting on the podium.

My voice drifted out of the tiny speaker.

It was heavy, crystal clear, and carried a terrifying, unshakeable power.

It sounded like a completely different human being.

"Do you hear that?" Sebastian handed the recorder to me.

"That is your voice. Trust it."

I took the cold metal recorder from his hand, the back of my throat burning.

When I walked out of the community center and reached the sidewalk, I ran straight into someone who absolutely did not belong here.

Lucas.

He was leaning against a streetlamp, holding a cardboard tray with two coffees.

When he saw me walking out of the senior center, genuine shock crossed his face.

It quickly morphed into a very subtle, deeply arrogant displeasure.

"Aria, have you seriously been coming here every single night?"

I stopped walking.

"What are you doing here?"

"Dropping off coffee for Hailey. She's in the study hall across the street running her impromptu drills."

He answered casually, but his eyes were locked onto the brass plaque mounted on the brick wall behind me.

The words Senior Poetry Recitation practically glowed under the streetlights.

Lucas stared at it for two seconds before letting out a soft, highly condescending laugh.

"Aria, you can't be serious."

"You're actually taking classes here?"

He shook his head, his tone dripping with the kind of patience you'd use on a stupid child.

"I know your ego is bruised, but you really shouldn't be resorting to this kind of absolute garbage out of desperation."

"Who the hell even is the guy teaching in there? Has he won a single state-level award? Does he hold any actual professional certifications?"

I didn't answer him.

He let out a heavy sigh, took a step closer, and lowered his voice.

"I'm just looking out for you."

"You've been icing me out, you refuse to let me coach you, and instead you're coming here to hang out with a bunch of geriatrics?"

Under the arrogance, there was a faint, undetectable trace of bitter jealousy.

I took a step back, maintaining my physical distance.

"Who I train with is none of your business."

Lucas stared at me for two solid seconds. The smirk on his face completely vanished.

"Fine. Qualifiers are the day after tomorrow. When you humiliate yourself on that stage, don't say I didn't warn you."

He turned and jaywalked across the street.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study hall, Hailey was already looking up, watching us.

When she saw Lucas approaching, she jumped up and ran to the door to greet him.

She took the coffee from his hand, whispering something softly.

Lucas tilted his head down, leaning right next to her ear.

They were standing so close that, from my angle, their foreheads were practically touching.

Hailey giggled, raising her hand to playfully push his shoulder. It was incredibly intimate.

I stood completely still under the streetlamp, my fingers wrapped tightly around the voice recorder in my pocket.

See you the day after tomorrow.

On the day of the qualifiers, the broadcasting department's black box theater was packed to the walls.

The judging panel consisted of Professor Harris, two senior broadcasting faculty members, and a special guest: Sarah, an executive producer from the state network.

Six candidates. Three recommendation letters.

I drew slot number four.

Hailey was number three.

While we waited backstage, Lucas sat in the observer's chair right next to the judges' table, officially representing his title as "Broadcasting Department President."

He didn't have voting power, but he was authorized to "provide professional insight" after each candidate's performance.

Candidates one and two were perfectly average.

Then it was Hailey's turn.

She was visibly shaking when she took the stage. She stumbled over the second paragraph of her mandatory read, and her impromptu commentary was totally disorganized.

But she was gorgeous, she had great stage presence, and even though her voice was incredibly shaky, her tone was naturally sweet.

When she finished, Lucas was the very first person to grab the mic.

"Although Hailey is still a bit raw, her vocal tone is absolutely stunning, and she is incredibly moldable."

"This is exactly the demographic the state network is currently desperate foryoung, fresh, and highly approachable."

"Personally, I believe her ceiling is incredibly high."

Professor Harris nodded slowly, writing something down on his clipboard.

As Hailey walked off the stage, she shot Lucas a sickeningly sweet smile.

It was my turn.

I walked to the center of the stage and planted my feet.

The spotlight hit my face. Dozens of eyes stared at me from the dark theater.

I could see Lucas leaning back in his chair, his face a mask of total apathy, looking like he was settling in to watch a guaranteed trainwreck.

Mandatory manuscript reading.

I took a deep breath. Following Sebastian's technique, I dropped my breath straight into my diaphragm, pulling my voice from the most stable, grounded place in my body.

"Good evening, viewers. Welcome to tonight's Evening News Broadcast"

The exact second the first sentence left my mouth, several people in the audience visibly straightened their spines.

I delivered the entire manuscript with aggressive fluency. It was heavy, razor-sharp, and the pacing was flawless.

Sarah, the state network producer, snapped her head up to look at me, immediately scribbling something onto her scorecard.

For the impromptu commentary, my prompt was "Should anchors maintain a personal brand?"

I prepped for thirty seconds. When I spoke, I ruthlessly controlled my tempo, ensuring every single sentence hit the floor like a brick.

Sebastian's words echoed in my skull. Don't run away. Make your voice stand its ground.

When my two minutes were up, the theater was completely silent.

Professor Harris finally nodded. "Excellent. Incredibly stable."

I let out a quiet breath of relief and prepared to step off the stage.

Lucas leaned forward and hit his mic.

"I have a counterpoint to add."

He sat perfectly straight, his face an expertly crafted mask of professional objectivity.

"Aria's fundamentals are certainly passable, but as her primary coach for the last three years, I am ethically obligated to point out a severe issue."

"Her current vocal mechanics deviate drastically from the standardized curriculum we teach here."

"The state network demands absolute uniformity. If her vocal foundation is corrupted, it poses a massive liability for live broadcast disasters."

"I strongly urge the panel to reconsider her viability."

The entire theater went dead silent.

I stood frozen under the spotlight, my fingertips turning to ice.

He had just weaponized his position, in front of the state network producer, to publicly brand me as an untrained, rogue liability.

Professor Harris frowned deeply. "Lucas, what exactly are you claiming is deviated?"

Lucas stood up, radiating pure confidence.

"For instance, her breath placement today was significantly lower than standard broadcasting protocol. In the short term, it sounds rich. But long-term application will permanently shred her vocal cords."

"Furthermore, this technique has not been academically vetted. It is a completely unregulated training method."

He sounded incredibly professional. He perfectly played the role of a concerned mentor looking out for my safety.

The judges began whispering frantically among themselves.

Sarah looked down at her scorecard, then looked back at me, her expression twisting into heavy hesitation.

I stood on the stage, my throat closing up.

I desperately wanted to defend myself, but I didn't even know where to start.

Sitting in the front row, Hailey tilted her head slightly, shooting me a deeply sympathetic smile.

The judges debated for five agonizing minutes.

Professor Harris cleared his throat. "Given the concerns raised by Lucas, we have decided to implement a sudden-death stress test."

"Aria, we are going to ask you to perform a three-minute live breaking news simulation, including an unscripted emergency interruption."

"If you can execute this flawlessly, we will dismiss the prior allegations."

I took a deep breath. "Understood."

Professor Harris handed me a freshly printed sheet of paper. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess of bullet points regarding an emergency flash floodroad closures, evacuation statistics, weather warnings.

The volume of data was insane, and I was given exactly zero prep time.

I scanned the numbers, my brain kicking into overdrive.

"Whenever you're ready."

I walked back to the center mark and looked up.

"Viewers, we are interrupting our broadcast to bring you breaking news. At exactly 3:15 PM today, the eastern district was hit by a catastrophic flash flood. Multiple arterial roadways are currently submerged..."

As I spoke, I was mentally restructuring the bullet points into fluid, broadcast-ready language in real-time.

My tempo was ironclad. The data was hyper-accurate. I didn't stutter a single time.

By the two-minute mark, I hit the zone.

Everything Sebastian had drilled into my body took over automatically. Breath, tempo, dramatic pauses, emotional restraint.

In the final thirty seconds, I deliberately decelerated my tempo to deliver a heavy, authoritative sign-off.

"This concludes our initial coverage of this developing emergency. We will remain on air to provide continuous updates."

The theater was silent for two full seconds.

Sarah was the first to start clapping.

"Outstanding. Your on-the-fly cognitive processing and data synthesis are exceptional."

Professor Harris nodded in absolute relief. "No issues whatsoever."

I finally let my shoulders drop.

But Lucas's face turned completely black.

He never expected me to survive that test.

Right as I turned to leave, he stood up again.

"Professors, I have one final piece of evidence to submit."

Professor Harris scowled. "Lucas, what now?"

"I need the panel to see exactly where Aria has been sourcing her training."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and held up a photo.

"This is the facility she has been attending for the last several weeks. A local community center for the elderly."

The photo clearly showed the tacky paper window decorations and Mrs. Wang's knitting basket sitting in the corner.

"Her so-called 'coach' is an absolute nobody teaching poetry to retirees. He holds absolutely zero state-level certifications."

"I am not targeting Aria personally. But as department president, it is my ethical duty to ensure we do not send fraudulent candidates to the state network."

"If her entire training ecosystem is a joke, then passing one stress test does not guarantee long-term stability."

The theater erupted.

The gossip hit the walls like a tsunami.

"A senior center? Are you kidding me?"

"Who the hell is she even training with?"

"She probably got scammed by some con artist..."

I stood on the stage, the blood rushing violently to my head.

He was standing in front of the entire university, systematically stripping away every last shred of my dignity.

Sarah's face hardened, her initial approval morphing into deep skepticism.

Professor Harris looked at me, his voice tight with frustration.

"Aria, who exactly is your vocal coach?"

I opened my mouth.

His name was Sebastian.

But who was he really? What were his credentials? I had absolutely no idea.

In that exact moment, I had zero proof to defend myself.

Watching me choke on my own silence, the corners of Lucas's mouth curled into a victorious smirk.

"Professors, I formally recommend that Aria's candidacy be permanently revoked."

"A candidate who cannot even verify the identity of their own instructor has no right representing this university at the state level."

From the front row, Hailey chimed in softly. "He's right... if she causes a disaster on live television, it's the university's reputation that burns..."

I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms.

Just as Professor Harris opened his mouth to deliver the final verdict

The heavy double doors at the back of the theater were violently shoved open.

A low, heavy voice, radiating absolute, terrifying dominance, hit the room like a sledgehammer.

"I'll tell you exactly who her coach is."