"Huh?"
Lost in his thoughts, Ronan looked up at Maxim, puzzled. Without digging too deep into what Maxim meant, he answered offhandedly, "No, not yet. I've got no ideas at all."
Come on!
Ronan had only been here for barely two hours. The surprises were piling up, and he was still reeling—problems popping up one after another. He hadn't even had a second to sort his head out, let alone think about the future.
His answer was totally honest.
But a flicker of disappointment crossed Maxim's eyes. Unease and conflict swirled around him like smoke, impossible to shake off.
"…Oh, okay, got it." Maxim's reply was stiff, like he was just brushing it off. That's when Ronan realized his response might've stung him—
For "Ronan Cooper," Tristan's exit had been brewing for days. Like the rest of the band, he'd probably been overthinking everything, especially about the future and the present. Saying he had "no ideas" sounded more like he was holding back than being blank.
Before Ronan could patch things up, Maxim couldn't hold it in. The words spilled out: "If you don't want to share, just say so—I won't take it personally. I haven't told you my thoughts either. But if you're gonna lie, at least make it less half-assed."
Ronan met Maxim's gaze and nodded lightly. "Yeah, I don't want to share."
One sentence shut Maxim's mouth, leaving him gaping.
Then Ronan couldn't hold back—he burst out laughing, rocking back and forth, hitting the brakes on the tension. He clapped Maxim's shoulder. "I know everyone's been on edge lately, but Maxim, it's not the end of the world. No need to beat yourself up over it."
No wonder Cliff and Maxim had been butting heads so hard—they were all wound way too tight.
Maxim stared at Ronan, face darkening, not cracking a smile.
Seeing the mood about to stiffen again, Ronan dialed back his grin and got serious. "I mean it—I really don't have any ideas right now."
"Maxim, if I said I want to spend my whole life on stage, would you believe me?" Ronan locked eyes with him, smiling lightly as he dropped a bombshell like it was nothing.
Maxim froze.
Ronan's smile widened. "I love how it feels to stand on stage. I love connecting through music. I genuinely want us to keep chasing this dream. But reality's not that simple, right? So, I've got tons of ideas—and none at all. Let's just take it step by step, finish the tour, and see if I've got any answers by then."
Honest and open.
Ronan laid his thoughts bare for Maxim, his clear, bright eyes hiding nothing. This was exactly how he felt right now.
Maxim squirmed a bit. His blunt outburst earlier had been too sharp, too emotional. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that." No hemming or hawing—he owned up to it straight, with real apology in his voice, then explained further.
"I just…" Maxim paused. "Yesterday, I heard you and Ollie talking about The Voice. Ollie said you could try out—maybe find a big break on that stage. I figured you hadn't settled on anything yet."
No wonder!
If Ronan went for The Voice, it could mean the band splitting up—solo acts only, no groups allowed. With the mess they were in now, "the future" wasn't some far-off thing. The "end" seemed to be creeping closer.
"No, I won't," Ronan said firmly, so sure it threw Maxim off for a second.
Ronan flashed a big grin. "I'm serious. We started this journey together, and I want us to finish it together. If that day comes—if the band's final chapter really closes—then I'll think about my future after it's done. There's still time for that. But until then, I want us to stick it out side by side."
For Ronan, fifteen years in the dark had taught him the taste of loneliness and helplessness all too well. The only constant companion had been his guide dog, Comma. Everyone else had their own lives—even family and friends couldn't be there 24/7. Comma was the one thing in the darkness reminding him, "You're not alone."
After enduring that long night, Ronan had learned to treasure every bond.
Life's just a journey, after all. Some people walk with you for a stretch, others for a different one, but most of the road you've got to travel yourself. So, no matter how long someone stays by your side, meeting them is fate, and their company is a gift. You've got to cherish it.
One Day King was like that too.
From 2005 to now, the four of them had weathered countless storms together, still standing by each other's sides. How rare is that?
Ronan believed that even if he weren't himself—if he were "Ronan Cooper"—he'd still want to stick with the band, no matter where the road ended or what the view looked like. The future after the final note? That could wait until then.
Simple words, but they hit Maxim hard, his nose tingling with emotion.
Because he knew Ronan meant every bit of it.
"Ronan, I just…" Maxim hesitated. As Ronan opened his mouth to jump in, Maxim waved him off. "Let me finish. I'm just not ready to let go. I want to be on stage too. I want the band to keep going. Our music dreams—they're the same. If…"
If Ronan tried out for The Voice, it'd be the real end for the band.
Ronan got where Maxim was coming from. He smiled. "So, am I right to think you see me as the perfect lead singer? Like, if I left, the band couldn't go on, so you're hoping I'll stay?"
"…" Maxim's touch of sentiment got wrecked by Ronan's smug look. He straightened his face, dead serious. "Even if that's true, you don't need to say it yourself. Praise from others and bragging about yourself—two different things."
Ronan had just been kidding, but Maxim's straight-faced correction left him sheepish. He stared at Maxim, at a loss. "So, are you gonna hype me up or tear me down? Can you pick a vibe before you talk?"
Another joke—but Maxim studied him closely, like he was actually mulling it over. Then, deadpan, he answered, "Let's call it praise."
Ronan: "…"