The days that followed became a cycle of school, labor, and song. Emma sang in markets, at street corners, outside busy intersections. She washed dishes, cleared tables at a noodle shop, helped an old motorcycle driver rinse bikes after school. Vendors, students, workers, old women, and passersby started noticing her. Some gave because they were moved. Some because they admired her courage. Some because her voice was simply too beautiful to ignore. But Emma herself remained unchanged: shy, respectful, serious, and never chasing attention for its own sake.
Still, the money came slowly. Her mother grew weaker. The hospital bill, with its urgent red lettering, haunted the room.
Then, only days before the registration deadline, a neighborhood store owner quietly gave Emma the last amount she needed. The child burst into tears. The next morning she put on the plainest dress she owned, packed the money box into her backpack, and rode the bus alone to the audition venue downtown.