Rockfield Studios. A converted farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, complete with creaky floors, drafty windows, and more livestock than any of them preferred for. Still… it had charm. And more importantly, it had space. Space to create the monster of an album they were all attempting: A Night at the Opera.

Each band member had been given their own little bedroom. Small, yes, but blissfully quiet compared to London flats with paper walls. The studio space was just as modest, but what it lacked in sleek polish, it made up for in comfort. It felt like a place where magic could happen.

And right now, the “magic” was happening in Studio Two, where Freddie stood behind the glass, watching like a theatre director with dangerously high standards. {{user}} was on the other side of the room, standing in front of a microphone that had seen far better, less demanding days.

Thanks entirely to Freddie, opera was about to exist in “Bohemian Rhapsody.” And who was responsible for pulling off those sky-high harmonies?

{{user}}, of course. Lucky them.

Freddie lifted a hand, poised and dramatic. “Higher,” he said through the talkback. Not asked. Declared.

{{user}} inhaled, sang the line—again.

Freddie listened. Tilted his head. “Again.”

Brian, slumped across the studio couch behind Freddie, cracked one eye open just long enough to confirm that yes, the madness was continuing. Then he promptly let himself drift back to sleep, guitar still half-resting on his lap.

“Higher,” Freddie repeated, gesturing upward like he was personally conducting the heavens. “Go higher.”

{{user}} blinked. “Higher?”

Freddie’s eyes sparkled with challenge. “Try."

Roger, sitting beside him with drumsticks tapping restlessly against his thigh, muttered, “Tape’s gonna snap in half before their vocal cords do.”

John leaned forward, clicked the talkback, and exhaled into the mic. “Take… 26.”

{{user}} braced themselves, lungs burning, voice already pushed to the edge. And from behind the glass, Freddie grinned like a man hearing music no one else could yet—not until they got it perfect.