The next morning, the house was calm.

Dayo woke up before everyone else. The sun was barely out, and a soft light came through the curtains. He walked to the kitchen, tied on an apron, and started making breakfast — eggs, toast, and tea, just the way his mom liked it.

One by one, his family came out of their rooms.

His mother smiled when she saw the food. "You woke up early today," she said.

"Yeah," Dayo replied, setting plates on the table. "Just wanted to do something normal."

They all sat together — his father, mother, sister Janet, and younger brother Jeffrey.

The air felt lighter than the night before. They talked about random things — how weird American bread tasted, how Janet cracked her phone screen again, and how Jeffrey still hadn't cleaned his sneakers.

Everyone laughed.

For the first time in a while, Dayo smiled like himself. He looked around the table and thought, this is what peace feels like.

After breakfast, they moved to the living room.

They sat on the floor, unboxing the gifts Dayo brought home — souvenirs from Tokyo, Paris, Casablanca. Small boxes, trinkets, snacks, and postcards. Everyone laughed and passed things around.

For a moment, everything was simple. Dayo watched them unwrap the gifts, his chest feeling light. Even with Marcus gone, sitting together like this felt like healing.

Janet placed a silly hat on their mom's head and everyone burst out laughing. His father smiled, pretending to complain about the taste of some foreign candy.

It was quiet, and it was peace.

Dayo let himself enjoy it.

Then evening came.

The new episode of Global Sound was about to air. The entire family gathered around to watch it together. Dayo sat at the edge of the couch — quiet, curious, but ready.

The show began. Stage lights, cheering fans, the announcer's voice. Everything seemed normal. Then came the behind-the-scenes clips. Dayo's interview appeared briefly — just a few seconds of him saying,

> "Music is my way to speak when words don't work."

Then it cut away.

His mother frowned. "That's all they showed of you?"

"Yeah," Dayo said slowly. "We talked for ten minutes. They cut almost everything."

Then came the performances.

Dayo leaned forward, knowing every beat of what he had done that night. But on TV, his song was shorter — much shorter. The broadcast stopped before the most emotional part, switching suddenly to another contestant.

Even Jeffrey noticed. "Wait, that's it?"

His dad frowned. "That can't be right."

Janet shook her head. "They cut your song."

Dayo stayed quiet, his hands clasped together.

He felt it — that quiet, cold kind of anger. Not loud, not dramatic, just steady.

He forced a smile so his family wouldn't notice. "Hey, don't worry about it," he said lightly. "I've already been disqualified. No point stressing over it."

His mother looked at him with concern. "Are you sure, Dayo?"

He laughed softly. "Of course, Mum. Don't worry."

He brushed it off and went to play with his siblings. But deep down, he knew something wasn't right.

---

Later that night, after dinner, Dayo sat alone in his room, scrolling through his phone.

The show had ended hours ago, but his mind wasn't at peace. The edit bothered him — badly.

Then his phone rang. Valerie.

He picked up immediately. "Hey, Val. You saw the show?"

Her voice came through, calm but tense. "Yeah, I did. But that's not why I called. I just got something strange in my inbox."

Dayo frowned. "What is it?"

"It's… a video," she said slowly. "Someone sent it anonymously. It's labeled 'Original Edit — Dayo Performance'."

He sat up straight. "Wait — what do you mean, 'original edit'?"

"I mean it's the full version of your performance. Before they re-edited it for TV. It's completely different — the song runs to the end, no fade, no cut. Even your speech before the last line is still there."

Dayo was silent for a moment, taking it in. "You're sure it's real?. Who was the sender?."

"Yes. The sender didn't leave a name or note. Just the file."

He gave a small, knowing smile. "Then whoever sent it knew what was going on."

He paused, then said one word — "Post it."

Valerie sighed. "Dayo, if we post this, it'll cause trouble. You're dealing with Michael and powerful people. They'll come for you."

He leaned back, calm. "Val, after what happened yesterday, there's no reconciling with Michael anymore. That bridge is gone. I'm not doing this to fight him — I'm doing it to show the truth… and survive."

She went quiet for a few seconds, then asked softly, "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Post it," he said again. "Put it together with the song. Let people see what really happened."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "That's why the person sent it. They wanted it out there to help me so, just do it."

"Okay," she said finally. "I'll handle it."

But instead of posting it herself, Valerie passed the video to one of her trusted contacts — a small entertainment page with just enough following to spread it quietly.

Within an hour of upload, the video exploded.

The caption read:

> The Performance They Didn't Want You To See

Here's the full, uncut version of Dayo's emotional performance before the Global Sound producers trimmed it for broadcast.

#JusticeForDayo #UncutPerformance

At first, people clicked out of curiosity — but after watching, they were stunned.

The crowd cheers, the missing verse, the raw emotion — everything was there.

Comment Section:

> "This is the real performance! Why would they cut this?"

"He poured his heart out, and they just edited it away?"

"You can see the audience crying — how could they hide that?"

"OMG this hits hard 💔"

"I always knew something was off about his disqualification."

"They're trying to bury his light."

"I don't get the hype. Maybe it was cut for time — calm down."

"Nah bro, they edited out the entire message. That's not 'cut for time'."

"People just like drama. The show probably had its reasons."

"Even if they had reasons, this version feels real. You can't fake that emotion."

Within two hours, the full video passed five million views.

Then came the second wave — the song itself.

Dayo uploaded it on his own page, writing simply:

> "This song is dedicated to every soldier who gave their life in service.

To my uncle, Marcus — and to all who never made it home."

He added the streaming link and hit post.

Within minutes, his comment section flooded.

Fans cried. Soldiers reposted. Even people who had never heard of him before wrote about how the song made them emotional.

Music blogs picked it up. News outlets began reporting that Global Sound allegedly cut "sensitive and emotional content" from his performance.

The production team tried to control the spread — but it was too late.

The truth was already everywhere.

And far away, in her quiet office, Alice watched the trending video on her computer.

She didn't say a word. She just smiled faintly and whispered,

"You deserve this, kid."

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