Nardwaur

The warehouse had undergone a metamorphosis since its early days. Gone were the bare concrete floors and exposed pipes – now polished hardwood gleamed under strategic lighting, while abstract art pieces adorned carefully selected wall spaces. The old shipping containers had been transformed into recording booths, offices, and creative spaces.

Arell stood in what they now called the "great room," watching his team set up equipment for today's interview.

"You ready for this?" Geoffrey approached, tablet in hand. "Nardwuar's... different."

"So everyone keeps saying," Arell replied, adjusting his collar. He'd opted for simple today – black jeans, white tee, limited edition Jordan 4s. "But different how?"

Before Geoffrey could answer, a commotion at the entrance drew their attention. The man who entered looked like he'd stepped out of a 1960s yearbook photo – plaid tam o'shanter cap, thick-rimmed glasses, and a tartan tie that seemed to have a life of its own.

"Doot doola doot doo..." Nardwuar called out.

Arell, despite everything he'd been warned about, found himself grinning.

"ARELL ROSE!" Nardwuar's energy filled the room instantly. "From Chicago, Illinois, welcome to the interview!"

"Thanks for coming through, man. We got everything set up like you asked—"

"Before we begin," Nardwuar interrupted, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Your girlfriend India contacted me with a special request."

Arell's eyebrows raised slightly. India hadn't mentioned anything about—

Nardwuar reached into his seemingly bottomless bag and pulled out a weathered photo album, its corners soft with age. "She mentioned you have no photos of your family."

The air seemed to leave Arell's lungs. The album's cover was a faded brown, with golden lettering that had mostly worn away. But there, in the corner, he could make out his grandmother's distinctive handwriting.

"How did you..." his voice trailed off as Nardwuar opened the album.

The first photo hit him like a physical blow – his grandmother on her porch, young and vibrant, her smile exactly as he remembered it. Next to her, his aunt Marie, before the cancer. His uncles, his cousins, faces he hadn't seen in years, some he'd never see again.

"Wow," Arell whispered, fingers hovering over the plastic-covered pages. "This is... wow."

"Your grandmother kept this album until she passed," Nardwuar explained softly. "It was in storage in Chicago. India thought you should have it."

Arell cleared his throat, fighting back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "Hell of a way to start an interview."

"Your grandmother kept all these memories safe," Nardwuar continued, his usual energetic demeanor softening for a moment. "Like this one—" he pointed to a photo of a teenage boy with an infectious smile.

Arell's hand trembled slightly as he touched the photo.

"I..." Arell started, then stopped, collecting himself. The warehouse seemed unusually quiet, the sophisticated lighting and modern decor at odds with these raw fragments of his past. "Thank you. Seriously."

Nardwuar's energy suddenly shifted back to intensity. "Speaking of memories, DOOT DOOLA DOOT DOO—"

"—SPIKE SEVEN-SEVEN!"

Arell's head snapped up. Kenny nearly dropped the water bottle he was holding. "Hold up, what?"

"Your high school basketball nickname!" Nardwuar pulled out a faded blue jersey with "77" on the back. "Because you liked Spike from the cartoon Tom and Jerry and you loved spiking the ball off people's heads when they tried to block your shots!"

"Nah, nah, nah," Kenny interjected, stepping forward. "How you know that? That was before—" He caught himself, but Arell knew he meant 'before prison.'

"Man, I ain't heard that name since..." Arell shook his head, disbelief and amusement on his face. "Coach Harris used to be so mad. 'Stop treating the ball like a volleyball!'"

"And speaking of places you used to frequent," Nardwuar continued, "Quick Stop!"

The amusement drained from Arell's face. "What?"

"Quick Stop! On 63rd! You remember Mohammad?"

Arell's expression remained blank, but there was tension in his shoulders now.

"The boy's grandfather! Little Jamal's grandfather!"

The color drained from Arell's face. Where he used to use the ATM.

"How..." Arell's voice was barely above a whisper. "How you know about that?"

"The medical bills!" Nardwuar pulled out an old hospital document. "Jamal, age 8, gunshot wound to the shoulder. Bill paid in full by—"

"Anonymous donor," Arell finished, his voice hollow. He glanced at Geoffrey, who looked equally stunned. That night had never made the news. Reese's man had missed, caught the kid inside the store. Arell had made sure the family stayed quiet, paid everything through layers of intermediaries.

"That was a dark night," Nardwuar acknowledged, his tone serious again. "But Jamal's doing great now!"

A small smile crept across Arell's face. "For real? Good for him."

"And speaking of old spots," Nardwuar continued, "The Corner!"

"Which corner?" Arell laughed. "Chicago got a lot of those."

"You know which one! Where you and the guys used to POST up!"

"Hold up," Malik stepped forward. "You talking about The Spot?"

"The very same! Where Devon here knocked out three guys in one night!"

Devon, usually stoic, actually laughed. "Man, they was talking crazy!"

"That was our spot though," Arell nodded, lost in memories. "Every day after school, then later... whenever we could. Mad fights, mad talks, everything happened there."

"And what about people who made a difference in your life," Nardwuar reached into his bag again, "Jenny Monroe!"

The room went completely still. Arell's face changed, something vulnerable crossing his features.

"Your social worker at Cook County," Nardwuar said softly, pulling out two books. "She gave you these."

Arell's hands were shaking again as he took them. A worn Bible and a basic law textbook, both showing years of use.

"She..." Arell's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "She gave me these my first few weeks inside. Said my mind needed feeding as much as my soul." He ran his fingers over the Bible's cover. "This was the second one she gave me. Wore the first one out."

"She believed in you," Nardwuar said.

"Yeah," Arell whispered. "Yeah, she did. Right up until she passed..." He trailed off, remembering getting the news just weeks before his release. Kenny put a hand on his shoulder.

After a moment of respectful silence, Nardwuar pulled out something else – a faded poster showing modified street cars lined up under city lights.

"Speaking of hidden passions!"

Arell's eyes widened. "No way. No way you know about this."

"Sunday night races! Under the 95th Street bridge! Ten years ago!"

"How?" Arell held the poster, examining it in disbelief. "Everyone knows I'm into racing now, but this? How you know this?"

Arell shook his head, "I used to climb that fence every Sunday just to watch." He looked at Nardwuar. "But how you know this? Like... how you know this?"

Nardwaur ignored him, moving to another shocking topic. "Rapper Systems," Nardwuar grinned, "let's talk about The System!"

'Huh?'

Arell's heart stopped. His eyes darted to Geoffrey, who had gone completely still. Cam, standing in the back, tensed up.

'How..?'

"The old rap battle spot on Lower Wacker!" Nardwuar continued. "Where aspiring MCs would compete for supremacy!"

The tension leaked out of Arell's body so fast he almost laughed. Kenny jumped in, "Oh yeah! Man, I remember trying to get you to battle down there!"

"Never did though," Arell smiled, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. "Couldn't rap back then to save my life. Just liked watching."

"Well," Nardwuar beamed, "look at you now!"

Arell shook his head, still processing everything. The photo album sat heavy in his hands, its worn edges telling stories he thought he'd never see again. "Man, this whole interview... I don't even know what to say. Like, for real – how you know all this stuff?"

"Because you're Arell Rose!" Nardwuar's energy hadn't dimmed a single watt. "We have to know!" He adjusted his plaid tam o'shanter, grinning. "But before we wrap up, I've got one more thing..."

"More?" Arell laughed, a mix of anticipation and mild dread in his voice. "Man, I don't know if I can take any more surprises."

Nardwuar reached into his seemingly bottomless bag one final time. "Speaking of surprises... CONGRATULATIONS!"

"On what?"

"Billboard charts! As of 5 minutes ago– number one!"

The room went still. Kenny's water bottle, which had somehow survived the earlier revelations, finally hit the floor.

"Hold up," Geoffrey stepped forward, tablet already in hand. "That can't be right. Last numbers I saw—"

"Two thousand units ahead of Dreams Worth More Than Money!" Nardwuar announced triumphantly.

Arell pulled out his phone, fingers moving across the screen. Sure enough, there it was – his notifications were a flood of congratulations, industry figures, and fan reactions. The K-pop stan reward was showing its effects – his mentions were filled with coordinated hashtag campaigns and fan art.

"That's..." Arell started, then stopped. How did Nardwaur even know that? 5 minutes ago? He hasn't even looked at his phone since they've started. "That's crazy."

"And speaking of crazy," Nardwuar's voice took on that particular tone that had preceded every revelation today, "would you like to do the honors?"

Arell couldn't help but smile. "Doot doola doot doo?"

"DOOT DOO!" Nardwuar exclaimed, somehow making it sound both like a victory cry and a farewell blessing.

After Nardwuar left, the warehouse remained unusually quiet. Arell sat in one of the custom leather chairs they'd installed last month, the photo album open in his lap, his phone still lighting up with notifications.

"You good?" Kenny asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, just..." Arell gestured vaguely at everything around him. "Processing. That interview was something else."

"Man really knew about Quick Stop," Malik shook his head. "That's wild."

"Everything he knew was wild," Geoffrey approached, tablet still in hand. "We're trending in twelve countries. The fan engagement metrics are off the charts."

Arell nodded slowly, his fingers tracing the edges of a photo showing his grandmother's smile. "You know what's crazy? All of this..." he gestured at the warehouse, at the success surrounding them, "it feels big. But this?" He tapped the photo album. "This feels bigger."

"You stopped talking about them," Kenny said quietly.

"Never had pictures to talk about," Arell replied. "After grandma passed... I don't know. Sometimes memories ain't enough."

The room fell quiet again, but it was a different kind of quiet – respectful, understanding. Devon, who rarely spoke unless necessary, broke the silence this time.

"So what you gonna do about Meek?"

Arell looked up from the album, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" several voices asked simultaneously but Geoffrey nodded.

"Nothing," Arell confirmed, standing up. "Man's out here buying his own albums, making it obvious as hell. Meanwhile..." he walked over to one of the art pieces on the wall – a complex geometric pattern that seemed to shift the longer you looked at it. "We're doing this organic. Real fans, real numbers."

"Speaking of real," Geoffrey interrupted, "tour numbers just came in. Every venue's sold out. You should add more dates."

Arell nodded, still studying the art piece. "Add them. But keep the intimate venues in the mix. I want some small shows between the arenas."

"Already on it. By the way look at this." Geoffrey held up his tablet, showing a video of hundreds of fans performing a synchronized dance to Pink Dust in Times Square.

"That's wild," Arell laughed, then his expression turned thoughtful. "Hey Geoffrey?"

"Yeah?"

"Pull up Meek's numbers again. The suspicious ones I gave you from the… you know."

Geoffrey tapped his tablet a few times. "Thirty-seven percent from a single retailer in Philly, twenty-four percent bulk purchases, twenty-one percent physical sales without inventory records."

"Send that to XXL."

The room went quiet again.

"You sure?" Geoffrey asked, despite the expression on his face that said he agreed.

"Makes sense," Arell replied, turning back to the photo album. "Sometimes you gotta let people tell on themselves."

He picked up the album and headed toward his office – the converted shipping container that still somehow felt more like home than anywhere else. "I'm gonna need a minute," he announced. "Got some memories to catch up with."

As he sat in his office, surrounded by the evidence of his present success while holding pieces of his past, Arell felt something settle inside him. The system's pinging drew his attention to the holographic display.

"Still disrespectful," he muttered, but there was amusement in his voice. The system pinged again, and a wave of stats began scrolling:

[Fan Engagement Update]

- Flash mob incidents: 27 (last 24 hours)

- Trending topics: 23

- Fan art submissions: 8,462

"Ain't that something," Arell murmured, opening the photo album again. His grandmother's smile seemed to shine up at him, proud and knowing. "Look at me now, Grandma. Look at me now."

Outside his office, he could hear his team talking about the tour, their voices mixing with the subtle hum of the recording equipment. And somewhere in Philadelphia, someone was probably trying to figure out how some very suspicious sales numbers got leaked.

The system pinged one final time:

[Achievement Unlocked: Full Circle]

Effect: Unknown

Note: Some victories can't be measured in numbers

Arell closed the holographic display and turned his full attention to the album. There would be time for everything else later. Right now, he had some catching up to do with faces he'd missed for far too long.

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I have a new story - Ashes and Snow