174-176

Chapter 174: Fairy Tale 

Poof. 

The golden sunlight that had just brightened the room vanished again in an instant as layers upon layers of dark clouds once more obscured the sky, and the hotel lobby fell back into dimness. 

However, Wyatt could still see a sky full of stars in Ronan's eyes. 

Wyatt had to admit that even as he arrived at the entrance of the Hilton Hotel, he hadn't been particularly interested in this feature story. It wasn't about the band, A Day of Kings, but rather that there were just too many similar situations in the entertainment industry. Countless shooting stars blazed across the sky faster and more intensely than bands suddenly becoming popular. Right now, A Day of Kings had only played one opening act performance; they had no real achievements yet, and he really couldn't muster much enthusiasm. 

However, his current thoughts completely overturned that. This band did indeed possess a certain quality that made people subtly anticipate something. 

Evidence? 

The most direct evidence was that the interview, originally planned for thirty minutes, had unknowingly stretched to an hour, yet Wyatt still felt there were many more topics to explore— 

How did they persevere for seven years? What efforts did they make to continue pursuing their musical dreams? What were the sources of the band's creative inspiration? How did the band position themselves? What were the band's next plans after Bruno's concert ended? What was the deal with the band's YouTube account? 

And so on and so forth. 

Topics like these kept popping up because the band's unique qualities had attracted Wyatt, hence his interest. 

Of course, rising stars with special qualities and talent were also countless in the entertainment industry. The road from a potential stock to a truly dazzling star was full of dangers and difficulties. No one knew if A Day of Kings could achieve a breakthrough, but Wyatt was willing to be hopeful. 

Especially the one in front of him... "Ronan Cooper." After carefully considering the name, Wyatt truly remembered it today. 

"Hmm?" Ronan thought Wyatt was asking him a question, so he made a sound to indicate he hadn't heard clearly. 

Wyatt gently waved his hand without explaining, simply changing the subject and posing the last question for today's feature interview. 

"What do you think is the driving force that has kept the band fighting for seven years without giving up and always maintaining hope?" 

This was a standard official question, an open-ended question that gave the interviewee enough room to elaborate and fully showcase their style. 

Ronan turned his head again to look at Cliff and Maxim, asking if they wanted to answer this question, as it had been a point of constant debate within the band for the past few months. 

Cliff spoke up, "We've thought about giving up, countless times. I have to admit, I was the very, very pessimistic one. We argued about it many times, but in the end, we still persevered. I think..." Cliff paused, exchanged a look with Maxim, and then they both looked at Ronan. 

"Ronan wrote a song called 'Born This Way'," Maxim added, explaining, "He said we might want to give up, but it's not in our blood." 

Although they didn't say much more, the band's unspoken understanding flowed between them at this moment. Even Ollie looked up, following his bandmates' gaze towards Ronan. 

Ronan was a little embarrassed, still not used to such attention, but he was slowly adapting. "I want to say it's dreams, because we believe in dreams, so we've always persevered, with a kind of unnecessary stubbornness, holding onto a meaningless persistence that has no future in sight." Ronan chuckled softly. 

After a slight pause, Ronan continued, "But I think courage is a more appropriate answer, foolish courage, just like children still believe that Santa Claus is real and that fairy tales can come true. We still believe that music can change the world." 

"What? Santa Claus isn't real?" Ollie's surprised voice, slightly distorted, came from beside him, his face displaying a look of "the world is collapsing" despair as he looked at Ronan in disbelief, seemingly anxiously waiting for Ronan to deny what he had just said. 

Ronan blinked: It seems like the focus is a bit off, isn't it? 

"Thank you," Wyatt interjected, "Thank you for agreeing to my last-minute interview request." Wyatt concluded the feature interview, which had significantly exceeded the planned time. He quickly packed up his recorder and other equipment, then picked up his camera. "Now, we need to take some photos for the magazine article." 

Everyone looked at each other: In the hotel lobby? 

But Wyatt was experienced. "Are your hotel rooms already tidied up? If not, we can go to the hotel's back garden. If I remember correctly, the Hilton here should have a small garden, and there's also a swimming pool. These would be perfect for taking magazine photos, we just need to set up the lighting properly." 

Set up the lighting? 

Looking at Wyatt's personal belongings, they couldn't imagine how he was going to set up any lighting. 

Wyatt was the first to stand up and started walking towards the hotel's back garden. 

Ronan lagged behind slightly and bumped Ollie's shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

Ollie shook his head, but after a pause, he still asked, "Santa Claus isn't real?" 

"..." Ronan was speechless. 

But Ollie had already gotten the answer from Ronan's expression, his shoulders drooping in disappointment. "I knew it. I actually suspected it before. Why was Santa's card always in Dad's handwriting? And Santa's gifts came down the chimney without any soot. Also, after I turned sixteen, Santa stopped giving me presents. Sigh, I had a feeling." 

The latest novel is first published on [移除了无效网址]! 

Ronan was dumbfounded but still patted Ollie's shoulder to comfort him. 

Ollie let out a heavy breath. "It's okay, I'll just buy gifts for myself in the future. There's no need to wish upon Santa Claus." 

It seemed like the focus was still a bit off. 

But Ollie didn't notice at all. He said to Ronan, "Let's go, get ready for the magazine photoshoot," and then followed along excitedly, seemingly without any lingering psychological trauma. 

When Ronan and his group arrived at the hotel's back garden and saw Wyatt's busy figure, it was a truly jaw-dropping surprise. 

Cliff quietly approached Ronan and asked uncertainly, "Are you sure this is an interview for 'Rolling Stone' magazine? Why..." Why does it feel so cheap? 

At this moment, Wyatt was busy working alone, holding a makeshift reflector made of aluminum foil. The many creases on it showed that it must have been folded into a small square and kept in Wyatt's small backpack, only now getting a chance to see the sun. 

In other words, Wyatt was basically "one person equals the entire team," responsible for all the work himself. This was very different from what they had imagined a magazine feature interview would be like. 

Ronan was also a bit unsure. "That's why I said he might be a scam team." Ronan glanced at Maxim. "But maybe because the interview was scheduled too hastily, this wasn't originally planned, so the reporter could only rely on himself?" 

Although Ronan was just guessing randomly, that was... the correct answer! 

Chapter 175: The Rookie Vibe 

Whoosh! A gust of wind whipped through, flipping the lighting board in Wyatt’s hands right up into his face. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hard board, but the clumsy scene was still enough to make anyone stifle a laugh. As the wind died down, the board slowly drifted back to the ground, leaving Wyatt’s hair a chaotic mess. 

He didn’t even need to look up to feel the band members’ eyes on him. “Relax, I know how ridiculous I look right now. You don’t need to point it out.” He paused for a second before adding, “And no, I’m not a con artist. I swear I’m legit.” 

This was not part of the plan! 

Everything happening today was completely off Wyatt’s original schedule. Interviewing the band? Unplanned. A thirty-minute chat stretching into an hour? Unplanned. The casual interview somehow turning into a full-blown feature article? Total curveball. 

If it were just a simple write-up, a text interview would’ve been enough. He could’ve grabbed some official promo shots from the band or even used stock press photos from Bruno’s concert—no big deal. But a feature article? That meant photos from the interview itself were a must, something vivid and specific to give readers a real sense of the moment. 

Normally, a feature like this would follow a proper process. At minimum, you’d have a journalist, a photographer, and an assistant. Depending on the article’s angle, the setup could shift—maybe it ties into a holiday like Christmas or Valentine’s Day, or maybe it’s a collab with a clothing brand or a sponsor. Different goals, different crew. Even the simplest feature still demands a pro team: hairstylists, makeup artists, stylists—the works. Sometimes, a magazine might even shell out cash to bring in top-tier talent for the gig. 

But right now? Everything was off the rails. Forget the band members—Wyatt himself was feeling the absurdity firsthand. No hairstylist, no makeup, not even a photography assistant. Just him, a lone soldier scrambling around. It was a disaster. 

Still, he had to figure out a way to make it work. 

Truth is, a feature article needs an editor’s green light. Whether it’s a magazine or a newspaper, page space is limited. Deciding what goes where, how much room each piece gets—it’s a science. Especially for a feature spanning three to twelve pages, it’s a centerpiece of the issue. From planning to prep to execution, it’s a massive undertaking. 

Wyatt didn’t even know where this piece would land. How many pages would the One Day Kings get? Or would it just get dumped online? All the material he was busting his butt to gather—how much would actually see the light of day, and how much would stay buried? Total mystery. 

Even so, Wyatt trusted his gut. He’d collect as much as he could and write something he was proud of. Even if it ended up on the website, he wanted to capture today—everything he’d seen and heard—and share it with as many people as possible. 

So, solo or not, he’d push through. Or maybe… he could use a little help. 

“Hey, can someone come over and hold the light for me?” Wyatt called out to the band. 

“Uh…” Ronan hesitated, catching a glance from Cliff, who looked like he wanted to say something but held back. In the end, Cliff jogged over to help Wyatt out. But Ronan’s mind went to the same place Cliff’s had: Alice. 

Maybe Alice could pitch in. This was kind of her thing, wasn’t it? 

Ten minutes later… 

Alice couldn’t help but grin at the sight: Ronan with a stiff smile and no clue what to do with his hands, the rest of the band standing around looking so nervous they could barely crack a smile. She turned to Wyatt, who was scratching his head, and politely chimed in, “Mind if I offer a suggestion?” 

“Of course! Yes, please,” Wyatt nodded eagerly. 

Wyatt was a writer first—photography, video, editing, he could handle it all, but it wasn’t his strength. His real talent was words. And now, faced with the One Day Kings, a band of total newbies, his lack of knack for directing or managing a shoot was painfully obvious. 

Photography’s a performance in its own way. In front of the lens, you’ve got to show something—a vibe, a spark—that’s different from acting on screen. It’s about projecting a natural energy from within, something the photographer has to catch on the fly. 

Top-tier photo shoots? They’re not easy. It’s all about the chemistry between the photographer and the subject clicking just right. 

Out of the band’s four members, Maxim was the only one who seemed comfortable. He could strike poses naturally, no awkwardness, but even his moves were a bit repetitive. You could tell he was stuck in his usual photo habits—nothing that shifted with the lens, style, or setting. Experience was still missing. 

The other three? A total trainwreck. 

The rookie vibes were overwhelming, hitting you square in the face. The shots were, well, let’s just say “hard to describe politely.” Wyatt had no idea how to guide them, but Alice? After months of hanging around, her camera had gotten to know the band. She’d picked up a few tricks along the way. 

Still, she wasn’t sure about stepping on a pro’s toes, so she checked with Wyatt first before jumping in. 

“Ronan, look at the camera.” 

Up until now, when Alice filmed, she’d encouraged the band to ignore the lens, to be their most natural, real selves. But today, with a still camera, they were boxed into a small space, forced to pose and freeze for the shot. It tied their hands—and feet. No matter what they tried, they looked stiff. 

So Alice flipped the script. She wanted them to lean into the tension, let the lens catch those fleeting quirks that made them them. 

“You sure about this?” Ronan asked, feeling like his limbs had forgotten how to function. Now he had to stare into the camera? 

“Yep, I’m sure,” Alice said, stepping up beside Wyatt and guiding Ronan’s gaze into the lens’s focus. “Look right at it. Imagine you’re talking to it, like it’s the audience you’re singing to. The lens is your crowd.” 

Special situations call for special fixes. Maybe this was the way to crack Ronan’s shell. 

Chapter 176: Stiff Limbs 

Ronan was only now truly realizing just how tough a model’s job could be. It wasn’t just hard work—it required talent and professionalism too. 

“How am I supposed to pose in front of the camera?”  

In his past life, as a rising young singer, Ronan had done interviews and photo shoots. But back then, it was the peak of the new media boom. The vibe was casual, approachable, and tied to social media trends. Most of the photos were selfie-style shots typical of younger people. He’d never done a proper “hard photo” shoot before.  

He’d only imagined it in his head, thinking it didn’t seem that difficult. But now, standing in front of a camera as a professional model—not just snapping funny, cute, or cool selfies—he understood the challenge. Sure, selfies were an art of their own, but hard photos demanded depth and texture in a flat image.  

That’s when Ronan started to feel the struggle—  

How should he stand? Where should his feet and hands go? How much should he puff out his chest or lift his head? What kind of pose would look good, maybe even cool? And then there were his expressions and eyes—how should he smile? Where should he look? How could he get into the right mindset? 

What did “lift your chin slightly” even mean—how slight was “slightly”? What about “open up your body a bit”—could someone define “open”? Or “make your eyes more natural”—it’s not like he was trying to be unnatural! And “harden your expression”—was that code for rolling up his sleeves and starting a fight?  

One pose, two poses—no problem. Three or four—he could still manage. But five, six, seven poses? Suddenly, he had no idea what to do with his hands or feet. Even the basics of standing felt forgotten, leaving him totally lost.  

Worse yet, his movements were stiff, his face blank. He felt like a lifeless, soulless zombie in front of the lens.  

Sure, if he could stiffen up with some flair—adding a spark to his eyes or expression—it might work as a unique style. But when the stiffness turned awkward and clumsy, with every inch of him screaming discomfort, it just didn’t cut it. At that point, they might as well use a life-sized cardboard cutout of him instead.  

“Look at the camera. Imagine you’re talking to it, like you’re performing for an audience—the lens is your crowd.”  

Alice was guiding Ronan to face the camera, but his movements still felt rigid and clumsy. His eyes betrayed a clear panic, like he was silently begging for help: 

How do I pose? How do I pose? How do I pose?  

Alice didn’t hold back. She burst out laughing. “You look like a broken Barbie doll—I mean Ken, a Ken doll.” (Barbie’s boyfriend is Ken, after all.) Ronan’s helpless expression only made it funnier. “Focus on the camera. Forget about posing for now.”  

She’d noticed that “posing” was like a strict assignment for Ronan—a rigid frame he kept trying to squeeze himself into. The problem was, his mental library of poses was pretty limited. He couldn’t find the right ones, and over time, he just froze up, unsure where to put his hands or feet.  

So, step one: forget about posing.  

“Forget posing? Then what do I do?” Ronan finally broke his silence, standing stiffly in front of the camera, staring at Alice with a head full of question marks. “I can’t just stand here like an idiot, can I?”  

“Why not?” Alice shot back without missing a beat. “Who says you have to pose for a photo? The whole point of photography is to capture a fleeting moment and make it last forever. Why does it have to involve posing?”  

“…” Ronan blinked, feeling like this was some twisted logic but unsure how to argue back. His brain was too busy with the photo shoot to keep up.  

Alice pressed on. “Just picture a scenario and step into it—like you’re performing on stage. It’s the same thing. Say you’re doing an interview with Rolling Stone this afternoon, but now you’ve got to handle your own photos. How’s that feel?”  

“Like I’ve been scammed.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. But as soon as he said it, Ronan burst into cheerful laughter, waving at Wyatt. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”  

Click.  

Wyatt didn’t care. His finger hit the shutter in rapid succession, catching Ronan mid-laugh, waving at the camera. The smile in his eyes spilled over naturally.  

Ronan noticed the shutter sound and immediately panicked, eyes widening. “Wait, that works? That’s not okay, right? That’s not cool at all! I don’t look handsome like this. Wyatt, are we sure we shouldn’t keep posing? I feel like these shots won’t turn out well.”  

“So, what, you want to go back to being a Ken doll?” Maxim’s teasing voice cut in from the side. Ollie and Cliff cracked up too.  

Ronan turned to them, exasperated. “Are you guys seriously doing this? Just remember—I’m only the second one to shoot.”  

“Oh, come on, Ronan, don’t be like that! We haven’t done anything, have we?” Cliff waved his hands defensively, but Ollie kept howling with laughter. The booming sound startled birds from the treetops and even sent ripples through the pool water nearby.  

Wyatt jumped, his heart skipping a beat, but his photographer instincts kicked in. He quickly aimed the camera at the bandmates, snapping shots of Ronan “facing off” with his three teammates. The lively scene practically leaped off the frame.  

By now, Wyatt was starting to figure things out.  

Ronan wasn’t made for still photography. The frozen moments of a shutter rarely captured the life in his expressions—often, he just looked stiff and flat. His inexperience and awkwardness only made it worse. But take him out of that posing framework, and he came alive. His energy overflowed, a vibrant, intense emotion that almost burst through the lens.  

So, Wyatt needed to shake things up and get Ronan moving—that’s what Alice was doing too.  

In stark contrast, there was Maxim.  

It’s not that Maxim looked bad in motion—far from it. He knew his strengths and how to play with light and shadow. The camera effortlessly caught his deep, chiseled features, like a Greek statue. Every frozen moment was stunning.  

Maxim was photogenic in a way the camera loved. Photos, though, struggled to capture even a tenth of Ronan’s charm—a small pity.  

So, what about Ollie and Cliff?  

Wyatt glanced down at the makeshift lighting board and the sloppy setup, realizing his options were limited.  

Feeling utterly defeated, he wondered—how had he gotten himself into this mess?  

(End of Chapter)