Giacomo was at a table outside of the academy. For once, he had actually stayed for a whole day and did all of the work. Why? He didn't know. He was sitting in Mesagoza, near the numerous shops and cafes that lined the corners of the city, typing on his laptop. He wasn't a singer, not by any means, but he did need autotuned vocals. He'd figure that out eventually, sure. Shaking his typed-out hand, he reached for his coffee he needed because he was a night owl. "Oh, hot," he mumbled.