Shock, disbelief, and surprise.
Lily, Connor, and Miles each had different expressions, yet they all shared a similar look of confusion.
Miles was the first to react. "But they chose our band because of our unique sound. So why would the record label try to change our style during the recording? Why would they do something so stupid?"
Anson shook his head. "At its core, the record company doesn't care about the music itself. What they care about is using the music to make profits and break into the market. Music is just a tool for them."
"So, if necessary, they can change the style based on what they think works best. That's where the producer plays an important role in the process."
"Of course, I'm just saying this is a possibility. It might not happen, or it could happen in a more subtle and unexpected way."
"Here's a scenario: If the producer thinks a cello is a good idea, what about adding other classical instruments? Maybe a violin? A grand piano? Before we know it, the band becomes a six-piece ensemble."
"It's not that violins or pianos are bad — we might even agree that adding some instruments could enhance our sound. But the issue is, things slowly drift off track, and we lose control without even realizing it. Suddenly, we're like puppets."
Miles' mouth opened slightly, his chest rising with emotion as he struggled to find the words. "How could they…?"
Anson smiled. "Again, this is just a potential outcome. I'm saying if we can plan the album's theme and style ahead of time, we can minimize the chances of this happening. No need to panic before anything actually goes wrong."
"But this is something you face when you sign with a major label. There might be some overlap between your style and their market goals, but there could also be clashes. Even legends like The Beatles and Queen had to navigate these battles with their labels. We're no different."
Finally, Miles began to understand.
The very things that made the band stand out — like featuring the cello as a main instrument or blending instruments into their performance — could be what attracted the record label, but it could also be the reason the label might later abandon them.
After all, they were exploring an uncharted path. Every step forward was filled with countless possibilities.
Miles looked back at Anson. "So that's why you wanted to sign for just one album instead of two or three."
They had been focused on the contract numbers, but Anson was thinking about preserving the band's identity.
Anson's push to sign a one-album deal wasn't because he, as an actor, wanted to keep his options open. It was because he genuinely cared about the band and was thinking from their perspective.
Suddenly, a wave of warmth filled Miles' chest as he glanced over at Lily and Connor.
But they hadn't fully processed everything yet.
The information was overwhelming, and their minds were racing in different directions, each focusing on different aspects of the conversation. They needed time to absorb it all.
"Lily?"
"Connor?"
Miles, feeling a bit anxious, called their names.
Anson wasn't surprised and jumped in with a suggestion.
"Tea? Coffee? Or maybe something stronger?"
He stood up with the air of a host. The offer of drinks was just an excuse; the real intention was to give them space to think. He didn't want to stay and add pressure.
Lily blinked. "Water. Just water. Uh, thanks."
Miles smiled. "I'm good. Connor?"
"Connor!"
Miles had to call out again before Connor finally snapped out of his daze, glancing around in confusion, as if suddenly unsure of where he was. He rubbed his face vigorously, making a strange rumbling noise in his throat.
Anson chuckled softly. "Got it. I'll surprise you."
With a playful comment, Anson got up and left the room.
But instead of heading to the kitchen, he walked to another room at the end of the hallway, a small storage room that had a window overlooking a little garden on the side of the house.
To his surprise, Anson spotted an old piano there.
He remembered that this piano came with the house — an old Spanish-style home. It used to sit in the living room, but they had moved it to the storage room to make space for parties.
Now, seeing it here, Anson realized the storage room wasn't as small as he had thought.
Who knew how long the piano had been sitting there, probably out of tune by now. Anson's hand drifted over its surface, feeling the resonance of the wood beneath his fingers. It was as if the wind was whispering, telling stories buried deep in time.
"Spider-Man" had succeeded—
Just like in his previous life. In fact, it was even more successful this time. The parallel universe was shifting, with the flap of a butterfly's wings causing a ripple.
But at what cost?
A Hayden. A Brad.
That wasn't entirely accurate. Hayden's situation remained a mystery even now. It was impossible to be certain what had happened behind the scenes. Yet, judging by the timing, it likely had something to do with *Spider-Man* or *Star Wars: Episode II*. Still, no one knew for sure.
Anson had always known how complex the fame game was, just like the book described it — "How to Lose Friends and Alienate People." The price of fame often involved ruthless decisions, turning everything into a tool, until you found yourself isolated and alone. He had heard similar stories countless times.
But the truth is, when you live through it, it leaves a bitter taste.
He understood the logic; but the emotions? Those were something else entirely.
And *Spider-Man* had only been out for two weeks. It hadn't even fully exploded yet, and Hollywood was already showing its true, cold-hearted side.
So Anson didn't blame Connor and Lily for their hesitation. They had every right to be uncertain, to be conflicted.
Life was like that — a journey of meetings, connections, and farewells. In the end, only a few people remain by your side, walking the same path. At every crossroads, different choices lead to different futures, and each person must own their decisions and face the consequences.
If Hayden and Brad's choices were made with careful thought, Anson hoped they would stay true to them and eventually reach the dreams they were chasing—
Because everyone's vision of their life is different.
Carefully, Anson opened the piano lid. His fingers hovered over the black and white keys, drifting gently, as if time itself was flowing between them. A soft hum began to rise in his throat, and his fingers pressed down.
Ding.
The clear note from the piano merged with the melody in his mind, transforming into golden notes that danced across the keys.
"Oh, oh, oh…"
Softly, Anson began to hum.