Ujin Jewang helped unpack percussion instruments that his band, Werewolf Weekdays, had brought along. He looked around at the corner that they’d been assigned by the Committee of Musicians. They were backed up against the enormous wall of Highpine’s Leaf District that separated the city from the wilderness outside. Opposite of them was a specialty jewelry store. And in between them was a small cobblestone street, the target of their performance for the day. He jogged down the Leaf District’s infamously large city blocks that separated their playing spot and the main road where all of the foot traffic was. When he finally reached the main street, he smiled and nodded at the sight of the city’s maintenance crews hard at work repairing the conveniently demolished cobblestone street. One of the maintenance workers re-routed confused and concerned looking citizens and tourists toward where the band was setting up. His plan was starting out nicely.

        He jogged back and gave his band members a thumbs up. They laughed and nodded their heads as they unloaded the last of their equipment from their cart. Despite this approval, Ujin knew that they still had doubts about his plan to get them heard. After all it was difficult to deny that they were losing traction with crowds after their latest scathing review from the most popular news heralds in the city, The Bark:

	“Aggressive, loud, and displeasing noise where the only thing the listener can cling onto is spoken nonsensical metaphors that require a vast amount of understanding of extremely niche topics and perspectives that are completely disjointed from the general population’s interests. The only thing we can recommend this for is an example of how not to pursue the musical arts.”

	When the last of the instruments were unloaded and set up for performance, Ujin stood at the front of the other members, his lute strapped proudly across his chest.

	“Just like we practiced, everyone. No sound altering magics for crazy sounds or competitions during the set who can play the loudest. Just straight playing and letting the instruments use their natural voice, alright?” Ujin said with enthusiasm. The rest of the band grumbled. Ujin knew that they were half curious about how this would turn out and half sure that they would look even more like fools.

	But before he could say anything to reassure them, a crowd of people came into sight and Ujin excitedly counted them off. The boom of the bass drum drew the eyes of the passerbyers and Ujin danced around as he usually did before coming into the mix with his lyrics. A few children from outside of the city ran to them, their eyes wide open with wonder. Their parents soon followed, also curious about the lovely sounds of plucked strings mixing with the mellowed beats of drums and droning notes grounding everything together. Ujin danced, luring more people into the spectacle until the small street was filled with people on their tippy toes trying to get a look at what everyone else was trying to witness.

	With this, Ujin unleashed the final part of his plan. Before he sang, he clasped his hands together, moved his fingers in the patterns that he’d practiced in secret. He felt the warm, familiar power well inside his throat, waiting to burst out. Then, he sang the nonsensical words that the critics had grilled them for.

	And the crowds went from curious to absolutely rabid. They danced and yelled and climbed on top of one another to the rhythm of the music. Ujin danced with them, then looked back at the band. They all looked surprised, but pleased with the reaction, nodding their heads to one another and starting to get more into the rhythm of their music.

	Within ten minutes, the small crowd in the small street turned into a clamoring stampede that stretched all the way down to the main road where maintenance was still going on. Werewolf Weekdays felt a joy they hadn’t felt since their first show together.

	When their hour block was finished and new fans trickled out of the small street to continue with the rest of their day, Ujin his bandmates patted each other on the back and packed up their instruments into their cart. When they were ready to go, one of the percussionists, Chan, pulled Ujin aside and told everyone they’d meet them at their usual spot for drinks. Shrugging their shoulders, they went ahead and shouted their joy. When they were out of view, Chan turned to Ujin with a serious look on his face.

	“Your entire plan was charming magic? That’s not what we’re about and it’s definitely against the Committee’s rules!” He whispered. Ujin looked around in a panic, making sure that no one else was around.

	“How’d you know?” Ujin whispered back.

	“Didis smile on me, those hand motions were the basics of an enchantment spell. Are you serious, Ujin? If we get caught we’re banned from ever playing in the Emerald Territory again.”

	“Look, I’m tired of not being heard. We’re all tired of it. What our music says will change so many of the Council’s policies and bring injustices to light,” Ujin, leaning against the city’s wall. “And it wasn’t just a regular spell. It’s some high level stuff that I learned, alright? None of that after effect of knowing a spell was cast on them, only that they loved our music and the fact that they had a good time.”

	Chan shook his head and took a deep breath. Ujin knew he was contemplating whether to come clean to the Committee or not. He’d always been the most rigid and honest out of all of them.

	“What are the others going to say?” Chan asked.

	“Nothing, because we’re not telling them. They wouldn’t want to hear it anyway,” Ujin said as he put his arms around Chan and guided him down the street.