Blair quietly gazed at Anson, silently—gradually falling into the depths.
That voice, like warm ice, emitted a crystal-clear brilliance. Upon careful approach, one could see the scars hidden beneath the cold exterior—so fragile, yet so weathered. However, there was no compromise, no surrender, just an unyielding song.
So peaceful, yet so powerful.
So bright, yet so delicate.
An overwhelming and surging sadness engulfed Blair.
Her vision blurred in an instant.
But Blair did not wipe away the tears; she let them fall freely as she kept her eyes on Anson, allowing her thoughts to flow along with the melody.
Anson was smiling, his eyes bright, standing tall and proud, showcasing resilience and strength in the face of all storms, painting a picture of a simple life—
"A stable job to support the family; perhaps I'll buy some new strings, and maybe we'll spend a weekend out together." (Note 1)
There's no need to be a hero, no need to be a great figure; even in simple, everyday life, one can find bits of happiness.
In truth, happiness often isn't grand or magnificent; it's precisely those reachable daily moments that silently make each second feel fulfilling.
They always searched desperately, losing their way without realizing it—unable to find happiness, themselves, or the way back. Only after cleansing the tarnish, when the lights dim, do they realize that happiness has always been within reach, just waiting to be grasped.
And then...
Anson looked at Lily, who hummed the lower notes, joining Anson in a duet.
"We can whisper secrets…"
Lily's fingers rested on the black and white keys, ready but not yet playing, pausing to quietly listen to Anson's solo confession.
"Speaking about the secrets of the American Dream, babies need to be well protected, but like others, I'm just a child."
The bass entered.
The keyboard wove around.
The instruments gradually joined in, but sparingly—just a few notes like stars, weaving through Anson's calm singing.
Incredibly, the deep tones of the bass fully supported the weight of Anson's voice—the weariness turned to relief, the hesitation to sighs, the passion to sorrow, transforming into a breeze, gently swirling around Anson.
"So, let me go."
"I don't want to be your hero, I don't want to be someone great; I just want to live like an ordinary person."
Anson turned to look at Miles—a brief exchange of glances.
Miles understood, not just Anson's signal, but also the complexity in his eyes.
They thought only they had endured hardships, only they were scarred, only they wandered outside the gates of their dreams; but Anson was the same.
What he longed for wasn't fame or legacy, but a truly fulfilling and happy life, grounded in reality, cherishing each day.
Miles understood, more clearly than anyone.
Even if he could stand on the stage of Carnegie Hall as a cellist, so what?
He wasn't happy.
In the eyes of others, it was a dream opportunity, a symbol of success. Anyone with a bit of sense would know what to choose—he should stand on the Carnegie stage, live a predictable life, don the mask, and spend the rest of his days as a stranger even to himself; but he didn't want that.
He wanted to stand on stage with Anson and Lily Connor, even if it was just on the streets. Even if they barely scraped by, even if they eventually failed and had to leave in defeat—it didn't matter.
The value of a dream isn't in achieving it but in the journey of pursuing it, which truly defines the meaning of life.
A smile crept into the corners of Miles' eyes as he lifted the bow again—
The mellow and graceful sound of the cello resonated.
The cello and bass, two low-frequency strings, intertwined once more.
Traditionally, the cello and bass were considered incompatible, so similar yet so different that their melodies often clashed, even devouring each other's texture, resulting in a dull performance.
Not bad, just… unremarkable.
But not this time.
Connor looked at Miles, Miles looked at Connor, a shared glance, and the deep, gentle strings intertwined and entangled, the frequency resonance creating a subtle vibration, perfectly highlighting the coolness and color in Anson's voice. In that moment, the world fell silent.
It couldn't help but go completely quiet, listening intently to Anson's voice, a simple and sincere narrative, hitting the softest part of the soul.
"I don't want to be part of the showy display at your masquerade ball."
Miles couldn't control the slight trembling of his heart:
No matter how dazzling, grand, or splendid that ball might be, it wasn't their ball; no matter how magnificent, beautiful, or brilliant the success might be, it would never be their life.
Even if he had to walk alone, even if he was battered and bruised, even if no one knew, he still wanted to keep moving forward, courageously pursuing a dream that seemed utterly unattainable in his own life.
His wrist, filled with such deep emotion and intoxication, played melodies on the strings that carried the warmth and strength of his soul.
He glanced at Connor.
For a brief moment, their smiles mirrored each other, as if they were seeing each other anew.
Happiness surged from the depths of their hearts.
Then, Miles looked at Lily, and finally, his gaze fell on Anson. He could even feel the smile spreading across his own face—
The keyboard. The bass. The cello. The guitar.
Each instrument began to play, the notes colliding, intertwining, and reflecting off one another. Different textures fused together naturally, creating a chemical reaction that transformed into something purely grand and vibrant. Led by Anson's voice, they gradually built towards a climax.
"Everyone deserves a chance to grow on their own."
A pause.
The music reached a rest, a brief silence during which the four of them exchanged glances. In each other's eyes, they all caught traces of tears, but their smiles bloomed perfectly.
This was the true allure of performing.
For a moment, they forgot the audience, forgot the fear of making mistakes, and focused entirely on their instruments. Carefully, they entrusted fragments of their souls to the music, bringing out the warmth and color of their emotions, feeling the subtle tremors of each other's spirits through the melody.
It was a connection, a collision, and a response.
Hearts trembled slightly, and the sense of happiness surged from the soles of their feet to the tops of their heads, their blood burning with fervor.
Until—
Strum.
Connor was the first to pluck the strings of his bass.
Then—
All the instruments roared to life.
Up until now, they had been merely accompanying, never overshadowing Anson's performance. But at this moment, they went all out. Finally, the unique charm of this band was fully revealed, shining once again.
*Note 1: "Hero" by Family of the Year.*