As an outsider, Anson knew that history had already veered off track, entering a completely different parallel timeline. Events had drastically changed because of the flapping wings of this little butterfly—him.
The future was entirely unknown.
Given that, why not open your arms and embrace a brand-new world?
So.
Anson had an idea, "Maybe you could give Warner Records a try."
Ryan was stunned, so much so that he forgot the bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "You... you're sure?"
Anson nodded. "Why not?"
"It doesn't cost me anything, because I'm not even sure if Warner Records will care about my opinion. I'm worried it might even have the opposite effect, considering that the name Anson Wood probably represents rebellion and individuality to them now."
Dustin added, "And unpredictability."
Anson pointed at Dustin, "And unpredictability. You heard him. My recommendation might not necessarily be a good thing—it could even affect their first impression."
"But no matter what, if you need a chance, Dustin can help you get one."
It all comes down to the right connections.
Even though Los Angeles is full of opportunities, without the right connections, you still can't knock on the right doors.
For Ryan, this was enough.
Absolutely!
He said.
But it took him a beat to realize that he hadn't actually spoken out loud, fearing that if he hesitated even a moment longer, he might miss the opportunity in front of him. So he nodded vigorously, almost as if his neck might break—
He needed this chance.
Ryan always thought that being Timberland's assistant and part of the production team for major artists would mean the music industry would recognize his talent. He believed he had already opened that door, and opportunities should be plentiful.
But now, it turns out that's not the case.
Transitioning from a producer to a singer, stepping from behind the scenes to the front—it seemed like a simple step but was more like crossing a chasm.
Record companies don't care about a small-time songwriter; they care about products—how to package a new product with precision. Talent, skill, and ability are all secondary—
After all, true genius that can amaze the world only comes along once every decade.
Talent. Skill.
They're there, and they're important. But in the showbiz world, where are all the artists? They're all just products on display.
Clearly, Ryan lacked the qualities that could impress a record company.
For the longest time, Ryan could see opportunities and seize some of them, but he had never been able to truly turn those opportunities into reality.
He was always standing at the door of the spotlighted world, circling around and around.
Yet, he didn't know what he was lacking, nor how to break through that invisible barrier—
An opportunity?
Any opportunity would do. He just wanted to seize it.
Especially one from Anson?
Wait, how did all of this happen?
Standing outside Sound City, bathed in the golden California sunlight, Ryan still didn't feel like it was real, as if it were all a dream.
So, what just happened?
How did he meet Anson? How did he get involved in the band's recording session? He was just supposed to be running an errand; how did it turn into this?
Did he really just produce a song with Anson? Did Anson just introduce him to Warner Records? Did he finally see hope again?
Anson? That Anson from "Spider-Man"?
Dizzy and confused, Ryan still couldn't feel the reality of it all.
Joy, happiness, excitement, and passion—all these emotions welled up in his chest, eager to explode and be released. He wanted to shout out loud.
But.
Click! Click-click-click-click!
Without warning, a burst of shutter clicks rained down on him, the blinding silver flashes breaking Ryan's train of thought, pulling him back to reality like gravity, interrupting the cheer about to burst from his throat.
Paparazzi.
Now, even the paparazzi are jumpy, springing into action at the slightest hint of movement, snapping photos first and figuring out what's going on later—
Afraid that in the blink of an eye, an exclusive might slip away.
A beat later, they finally realized that the person bathed in the flashlights wasn't Anson, wasn't even a band member, just a regular passerby. The shutters all stopped instantly, and the world returned to peace in a second.
Then, they scattered like birds and beasts.
Ryan hadn't even had time to figure out what was going on before he was left standing alone, dazed and almost unsteady on his feet.
What... what just happened?
Ryan looked at the empty space in front of him, completely lost.
On one side, Ryan got a taste of the fleeting and hollow nature of fame.
On the other side, Anson and the band's recording session got back on track.
There were clashes and arguments, happiness and joy. The recording process turned out to be more fun than expected, and though there were some bumps along the way, they ultimately finished the work smoothly.
Finally, before summer ended, all of Anson's work temporarily came to a close.
Without a doubt, it had been a busy and fulfilling summer:
A movie release, an album recording, and a movie shoot.
Busy and rushed, with no time to slow down and savor it all, time had already flown by, dragging summer to its end.
*Knock, knock knock.*
At the door, there was a knock.
Not waiting for Anson to respond, the next second, a confident baritone voice could be heard.
"Anson? Anson Wood?"
"Hello, you have a golden ticket from Wonka's Chocolate Factory."
Barefoot, Anson walked across the lobby, opened the front door, and saw that familiar yet unfamiliar figure.
He thought he'd feel estranged, but in fact, one glance and a sense of familiarity flooded his mind—
Standing there was a middle-aged man, about forty years old, slender and refined, with graying temples that didn't make him look old at all. Instead, they gave him a sense of elegance and poise, a quiet confidence that only time could carve out. His simple, casual attire exuded an understated grace.
Even the square black-framed glasses couldn't hide his bright eyes, each wrinkle telling a story of time and experience.
Some people look better the younger they are, with the glow of youth making it hard to look away; others, like fine wine, become more charming with maturity, their aura becoming more intoxicating with age.
Charles Wood, Anson's father, belonged to the latter category.
"Wonka? Are you serious?" Anson was a bit exasperated.
The reference came from the book *Charlie and the Chocolate Factory*, where the chocolate factory belongs to Wonka.
In the story, Wonka invites five children into his chocolate factory, ultimately choosing one to be his heir; the invitation comes in the form of a golden ticket.
Charles spread his arms without responding and went straight in for a hug.
Anson: ???
Charles seemed to sense Anson's confusion and cut him off before he could voice it. He released the hug first, pulled out a card the size of a greeting card from his inside pocket, and handed it to Anson. "Of course, I'm serious."
Anson, full of questions, accepted the card, while Charles walked past him and directly into the house—
After the recording, Anson had moved back to his original villa from Sound City.
"Ah, son, this decor—it's not great. You can tell you guys don't have much of an eye for design."