1471-1475

Chapter 1471: Ripples on the Heart’s Lake

Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are the timeless constants of life. Everyone knows it.

But in reality, they’re the hardest, most unsolvable challenges. No matter how many times you go through them, facing them calmly never gets easier.

They’re like love—coming together, drifting apart. Yet unlike love, they carry joy, anger, sorrow, and delight, eventually becoming an inescapable part of every person’s journey.

Inspiration wasn’t just swirling in Anson’s mind—it was churning in Dustin’s too.

You could see it clearly now: Dustin was getting a little worked up.

“We all know this, but every time we face death, every time someone leaves our lives, that helplessness hits just the same. Whether it’s the first time or the tenth, the pain, the struggle—it never changes.”

“But the reality is, we all have to say goodbye to the ones we love most.”

“It doesn’t have to be birth, aging, sickness, or death. Goodbyes—separations—they come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Love, family, and then there’s friendship. We used to think some friends would stick around forever, that we’d never part ways. But then one day, you realize your best friend has drifted off. No fights, no falling out, not even a proper goodbye—we just…”

Anson picks up the thread, his voice soft. “We just stopped talking.”

“We went down totally different paths in life. Sure, we’re still ‘friends,’ but we don’t walk through life’s ups and downs together anymore. Maybe we shared some big moments back then, but now? We’re strangers.”

That’s life for you.

When we’re young, we toss around “forever” like it’s nothing: pinky promises, a hundred years, no take-backs.

It’s all so simple.

Then one day, it hits you—“forever” is just a fairy tale we made up. A fleeting, fake glimmer of hope to cling to amid life’s endless pain and despair. There’s no eternal love, no everlasting family or friendship, no memories that never fade.

The things we swore would never dim or disappear in our reckless youth? One turn around, and they’re shattered, gone with the wind.

And just like that, we grow up.

Take Hayden Christensen, for example.

Even now, Anson still doesn’t know why they stopped talking. He’s got guesses, sure, but nothing confirmed.

Is it hatred?

No, not at all. It’s not even dislike or avoidance. It just… ended. Or rather, they took different roads.

To outsiders, it might seem odd. Anson and Hayden are both in Hollywood—a tiny world where you’d think they’d bump into each other all the time. But that’s the thing about reality: even in the same city, the same circle, they’ve never crossed paths again.

Surprisingly, that’s just how life works.

This is a life, a long journey.

Along the way, we meet tons of people. Some get close, some stay distant. Some stick around for a long stretch, others just a short blip. Some drift apart by accident and never reconnect, some split in a fiery argument and scatter to the ends of the earth, and some just quietly take different turns at a fork in the road.

In the end, though, the journey’s final stretch? We walk it alone. That path to the grave—we’ve got to finish it ourselves.

So, loneliness—that’s the core of life.

Whether we like it or not, whether we accept it or not, we’ve got to learn to deal with it, face it, and live with it.

Love? Yeah, it’s a huge part—gut-wrenching, soul-crushing. What is love, anyway, that it drives people to live and die for it?

But love isn’t everything. There’s family, friendship, and a whole mess of other emotional ties—like those connections that hover outside intimacy. Admiration, respect, reverence—they’re just as vital, pieces of the countless feelings that make up life.

So, in all these emotions, can we find something eternal?

Then—

Anson turns back to the piano, his fingertips landing on the black-and-white keys again.

This time, it’s different. No shouting, no screaming, no emotional explosion. He just closes his eyes and hums softly along with the melody.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm…”

Like a lullaby.

Light and gentle, those tangled, heavy emotions hide quietly beneath the wounds. But the force of his fingers striking the keys is strong, full of vigor. Rich, bold feelings pour into the notes, running wild, burning bright.

Finally, he stops playing, letting the keys’ resonance hum faintly in the air. The noise and clutter fade into nothing, leaving only a subtle vibration drifting, passing, surging.

Ding.

He taps a single key. “The setting sun glows red, slipping into the night…”

Another key. “You’re not here, by my side…”

A single note lands softly on the heart. “I let my guard down, you pull away…”

And it explodes with overwhelming force. “I’m slowly getting used to being the one who loved…”

Until the notes and melody fade completely, Anson’s voice alone sings quietly, “I’m slowly getting used to being the one who loved.”

No accompaniment, just the simplest, rawest a cappella. Endless loneliness, endless melancholy, spilling out between his lips.

Bruised and battered, bleeding all over, he still stands tall. Covered in scars, he keeps moving forward, knees locked, steps firm.

The notes vanish.

The singing stops.

The room settles into stillness. All the chaos and noise smooth out—no crashing waves, no heart-ripping cries.

It’s like a pebble dropping into the lake of the heart, ripples spreading outward layer by layer.

No one breaks the silence, but the storm raging in their minds won’t quit.

A buzzing hum roars and burns. The quieter it gets, the wilder it surges; the more it’s held back, the stronger it grows. Their pounding hearts feel ready to burst.

Dustin’s antsy, barely holding it together. He tries and tries, but finally blurts out, “Anson, that’s it? That sounded like just a chorus.”

Mike swallows hard, craning his neck toward Anson. He looks like a guy who hasn’t eaten in three days staring at a juicy steak.

Anson turns around casually. “Yeah, it’s just a chorus. I caught a spark of inspiration a second ago—it flashed by, and I figured I should jot it down.”

A few words, some scattered pieces—often that’s all it takes to ignite a creative flame.

Dustin’s eyes widen. So they just witnessed Anson’s creative process live? “How… what… how does that even… You mean, while you were performing just now, you got a random spark of inspiration and decided to record it on the spot?”

Anson nods like it’s no big deal. “Yup, that’s it.”

Dustin’s about to say more but chokes on his own spit, coughing hard and looking like a total mess.

Mike glances at Dustin, meaning to say something, but he’s too caught up to bother with him. He turns back to Anson in a rush. “So this song isn’t finished yet? But that last one—it’s done, right? What’s it called?”

Chapter 1472: Hidden Surprise

“So this song isn’t finished yet? But the one before that—it’s done, right? What’s it called?”

Finally!

Mike had been itching to ask, practically bursting at the seams, but he hadn’t gotten a chance until now. Even with Dustin coughing up a storm beside him—sounding like he might hack up a lung—Mike couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.

Dustin shot Mike a baffled look: Seriously? The song’s name was the most pressing thing? Come on!

Mike glared back, unapologetic. “It matters to me! This could be the next chart-topping single!”

That earned a wry smile from Anson, who shook his head lightly, amusement tugging at his lips.

He’d always tried to steer clear of writing with “chart-topper” or “lead single” in mind—those labels could shackle his creativity.

But now? It seemed he couldn’t escape Mike’s business-minded lens after all.

Still, Anson didn’t mind. From the start, he’d never aimed to make highbrow, inaccessible art.

“‘Hold Me While You Wait,’” Anson said, not dragging it out, just giving the answer straight.

Mike blinked, caught off guard, his surprise plain as day.

Anson chuckled again. “What, not catchy enough for a hit single?”

Mike caught the teasing and let out a sheepish laugh. “Well, usually chart-toppers go for something short and snappy—easy to stick in your head.”

“But…” He let out a long breath. “I’m guessing you already know that.”

“Roar Hey,” “Wake Me Up,” “Hero,” “Long Live Life”—all the tracks from Midsummer Midnight had punchy, simple titles. The only outlier was “Wake Me Up When September Ends,” but it wasn’t a lead single, so it didn’t count.

Anson could’ve gone with something like “Hold Me” or “Wait”—short, sweet, to the point.

But he didn’t.

That meant he’d thought this through.

Mike’s mind flicked back to their earlier talk—Anson’s focus on lyrics, his take on music. A faint thread started to form.

“On the flip side, a longer title can stake its own claim,” Mike said, brushing aside the jumble of thoughts for now.

A grin crept back onto his face. “Those short-and-sweet songs? They crash into each other all the time. You’d never guess how many tracks out there are called something like ‘Love or Die’—every genre under the sun, too. People can be so stingy with words.”

That got a laugh out of Anson.

He threw his hands up. “You guys have no idea how hard it is to name a song. Summing up the whole vibe in a few words? It’s tougher than writing the lyrics themselves.”

Mike chuckled along. “But at the end of the day, it’s the music that counts, right? Only God knows how many times I rolled my eyes when I first heard ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ I didn’t even want to listen. Then that opening note hit the radio, and it was like a jolt shot from my toes to my skull.”

With a playful jab tossed out, Mike glanced at Dustin, tossing him a look—your move.

Next step.

They needed to tag-team this now: the signing.

First off, no matter what, Warner Records wasn’t letting Anson slip away.

That was non-negotiable from the jump. Signing Miles and their new band? That was up for debate. Signing Anson? A must. Even if Anson swore off solo albums or new bands forever, Warner still wanted him locked in.

They couldn’t risk another label swooping in. No gaps, no chances.

Second, Warner was coming in with two hundred percent sincerity—multiple deal options on the table, hoping for smooth talks.

It wasn’t just about Midsummer Midnight’s numbers. Anson’s market pull was the real prize.

That was the groundwork.

Today’s meeting? The make-or-break moment. Mike had shoved everything else aside to convince Anson to sign, to avoid any delays or complications.

If they didn’t seal this now—if Anson walked away again—they’d be stuck reliving the nightmare of the past few months. Things would only get messier.

So it wasn’t about if they’d sign him. It was about the terms.

Anson had just laid out his creative vision with three-and-a-half songs. Mike was convinced: they should offer top-tier terms to lock him in.

There was only one Anson, after all.

Now, Mike needed Dustin to snap out of it and play ball—show Anson Warner’s full commitment, get that signature.

Dustin knew this backward and forward. They’d hashed it out a million times over the past few months.

And yet?

Dustin had completely checked out of the signing talk. His face was a mix of regret and longing, muttering to himself, still hung up on that chorus Anson had just spun out. The melody and lyrics were looping in his head—he was even trying to piece together a verse to go with it.

He’d tossed Mike to the wind without a second thought.

Mike: …

Stiff-necked, he turned to Anson, catching the faint amusement in his eyes. Mike let out a soft sigh.

“I should’ve known he’d flake.”

But what choice did he have? Even solo, Mike had to get this done. It wasn’t just his job on the line—it tied into Warner Bros.’ whole game plan. They had to treat this with max priority.

“Anson, there’s something—”

He barely got the words out before Anson cut in again. “Oh, hold up—I almost forgot. There’s a hidden surprise.”

A surprise?

Wait, there was more?

The real shock wasn’t the surprise itself—it was that Anson had one up his sleeve at all!

What did that mean?

Mike froze, gears grinding. Then it clicked: this was all a setup. They’d walked right into Anson’s trap.

He blinked, struggling to keep up. “I thought ‘Hold Me While You Wait’ was the surprise. And that chorus just now? A bonus.”

Anson laughed lightly at that.

He waved it off. “Just a little something—tiny, really. It’s a melody that’s been kicking around since shooting the first Spider-Man. Never finished it, though. Recently, I finally gave it a shot.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure about it. Lacking confidence, you know? So, how about you guys take a listen and weigh in?”

Mike eased up a bit. “Of course, we’d love to help.”

He was about to nudge Dustin back to reality, but Dustin beat him to it. Snapping out of his daze, he turned to Anson, eyes wide with anticipation, flashing the friendliest look he could muster—trying hard not to come off like a wolf eyeing Little Red Riding Hood.

“What’s this attempt? For the new album?” Dustin swallowed hard, excitement bubbling up.

Anson shrugged lightly. “Not sure yet. Might need some discussion first.”

Chapter 1473: Secret Weapon

Surprise!

A hidden gem, throwing Mike’s plans off track once again, dragging him—yet again—into a whirlwind of inspiration.

“I’m not sure. Maybe we should talk it over,” Anson says, a faint smile in his eyes. As he speaks, he turns back around, hands settling on the black-and-white keys. His fingers drop, and he starts to play—

It’s all piano, just like the songs from earlier. Same instrument, so you’d think the texture and vibe of the melodies would be pretty similar, right?

Wrong.

The first two songs and the next two had completely different emotional flavors. They went from soft sorrow and gentle release to a wild, unrestrained outpouring. It’s not just the melodies—rhythm and style shifted too.

But this? It’s like golden sunlight spilling over a summer morning, slowly chasing away the mist. The world glows in a dazzling, hazy halo. Vibrant energy and stubborn life bloom proudly in the melody—not loud or blinding, but light and lively, dancing joyfully between the notes.

Completely different!

Totally, utterly different!

The shock hits in waves, and emotion swells up, filling the heart to the brim.

Mike’s jaw drops. He’s speechless.

He thought he was ready this time, but nope—he’s surrendering all over again.

Surprise—a 100% pure, jaw-dropping surprise. It’s enough to make even “Wake Me Up” pale in comparison. In an instant, every thought and distraction in his head vanishes, and he’s swept fully into the world of music, swimming and wandering freely.

Who’d have thought the biggest shock of the day would come at the very end?

Suddenly, it dawns on Mike: he’s never been in control today.

Looking back at the whole thing—

Step by step, Anson’s been building it up, layer by layer. After the shocks and impacts already stirred the waters, after Mike and Dustin were completely sold, he drops this final surprise—a critical blow that flips all the beliefs and ideas they’d built up so far.

And just like that, they’re totally caught in Anson’s trap, powerless to fight back.

Gotta hand it to him—brilliant!

If you really think about it, it’s all been orchestrated. From the moment Anson “happened to pass by,” no, even further back—from the months he went radio silent—control’s been firmly in his hands. Warner Records never stood a chance.

And that’s a good thing.

Sure, the scare factor’s real—Mike’s more convinced than ever that Sony Columbia might’ve messed with the wrong guy. But flip it around: since Anson’s got the reins, it means he’s ready to sign and giving Warner Records the first shot at an offer.

This is their shot.

Everyone thinks Anson doesn’t stand a chance against Sony Columbia—like a mantis trying to stop a chariot. But now? It’s looking like Sony Columbia hasn’t even clocked what kind of opponent they’re up against. All of Hollywood’s been fooled by this guy’s “pretty vase” act.

A vase?

Heh.

The real worry now isn’t Sony Columbia—it’s Warner Records themselves.

So, how do they seize this chance?

“Mike…”

A voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts, snapping him back to reality. He turns to see Dustin’s face, twisted with excitement, eyes red and brimming with anticipation and pleading. The guy looks like he might burst into tears any second.

More powerful than words.

If Warner doesn’t lock Anson down today, Dustin might actually explode right here.

The pressure’s crushing.

So, what do they do?

Mike’s scrambling to string some words together, grabbing at a stray thought. “So, this one’s from your own life, huh?”

Anson cracks up laughing.

Mike throws his hands up, trying to keep it light with a little joke. “This song’s got a totally different vibe from the last two—full of happiness, joy, freedom. I bet every listener’s gonna wonder, ‘Is Anson in love right now?’”

Anson’s grinning ear to ear. “One minute it’s hot romance, the next it’s a cold war, then a breakup. This album’s got quite the emotional rollercoaster.”

Mike catches the teasing in Anson’s tone. “What, another friend’s story?”

Anson’s chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. “Bingo. Another friend’s tale.”

Mike’s still tossing out little quips to buy himself some breathing room, but Dustin can’t hold back the joy and excitement bursting in his chest anymore. “Anson?”

He’s staring at Anson with puppy-dog eyes, his mind a swirling mess of emotions. It takes him half a beat to realize he’s got no clue what to say.

Like a total idiot.

But Dustin doesn’t care.

Being an idiot might mean stupidity, sure, but it also means innocence.

If being seen as an idiot lets him hold onto a pure, music-loving heart—if it lets him still find the beauty and joy of music in a world obsessed with profit and entertainment—why should he mind?

Everyone wants to be the smart one, but does being smart actually bring happiness?

If he had a choice, Dustin would stick with this vibe any day.

Taking a deep breath, he barely reins himself in. “So, what is this?”

“It’s not folk, it’s not rock, it’s not pop… I, uh, I had no idea you wanted to make music like this.”

Dustin’s at a loss for words. He’s not sure how to pin it down exactly.

Maybe all he’s got is a genuine heart.

That brings a smile to Anson’s eyes. “Does genre or type really matter that much? To me, music is just music.”

“It’s exactly because people keep piling on layers of meaning to classical music that younger generations tune it out.”

“Nowadays, classical music gets tagged as stiff, traditional, outdated, backward, stuffy—even folks in the record industry buy into that. But is it true? Music is music. The emotion and energy in classical stuff doesn’t vanish just because of a label. If we keep boxing ourselves in with those tags, we’re the ones who lose out.”

“That’s the kind of music I want to make.”

Not about genre, not about type—just melodies straight from the soul.

Johnny Cash was like that.

He blended country and swing, a white guy channeling Black music, breaking boundaries to chase the soul of music itself. That’s what let people feel its essence—his secret sauce for standing out in the star-packed ‘60s.

It’s not just about August 31st Band either.

From the moment Anson ran into Miles and the crew on New York’s streets, he’s been carving his own path of innovation.

Now, he’s taking it further.

“Of course, I get what you mean,” Anson shifts gears. “You can’t just wing it with an album. Even an experimental one needs a thread, a soul. If the style, genre, and creativity don’t line up, the whole thing falls apart.”

“So, this song? It’s not going in the album.”

Chapter 1474: Crossroads

Anson said, “So, this song won’t be on the album.”

Dustin froze mid-breath: Hic!

Mike thought he’d misheard, blurting out, “What?” in sheer disbelief.

Anson didn’t seem to notice their shock. “Didn’t I just say? This one’s inspired by Spider-Man. I’m planning to talk it over with Sony Columbia, see if it could fit on the soundtrack…”

Mike waved his hands frantically. “No, no, no, no—a song like this belongs on your solo album. If Sony Columbia wants it for the soundtrack, they’d need to hash out the rights with us.”

Seeing Mike’s dead-serious expression, Anson couldn’t help but laugh. “But the vibe doesn’t match the album. Dustin gets it—consistency matters. Ruining the whole album for one song? Not worth it.”

“Worth it!” Mike shot back, no hesitation. “Absolutely worth it! How could it not be?”

He leaned forward, too excited, too eager to hold back. “Anson, I don’t know squat about making music. I’m just a businessman with zero musical talent. But I know the market. I’ve got a nose for it.”

“I knew ‘Wake Me Up’ would hit. I knew ‘Long Live Life’ would take off. And this? I’m telling you, one hundred percent, this song’s a winner.”

“We can’t let it slip—”

Anson blinked, turning to Dustin with a pleading look for backup.

He’d figured Dustin would agree, echo the sentiment. But instead, Dustin hesitated, his face twisting with conflict before he spoke cautiously.

“Maybe… we could tuck it in as a hidden track? That way, it’s on the album without messing up the flow.” He paused, then added, “But Anson, Mike’s right—this shouldn’t go to Sony Columbia. They’d just waste it.”

Anson blinked again, then burst out laughing. “Oh, right—I forgot you guys are rivals.”

It was the classic setup: Universal with its film and music arms, Warner Bros. with Warner Pictures and Warner Records, and Sony with Sony Columbia and Sony Music—titans straddling the top of the entertainment pyramid.

Sure, these massive companies operated independently under their parent umbrellas, rarely crossing paths. So yeah, Sony Columbia’s film soundtracks usually went straight to Sony Music for release—streamlining resources, cutting out middlemen. That was standard industry play. But it wasn’t a hard rule. Cross-company, cross-group collabs? Rare, but they happened.

Take this case: if Anson’s deal was with Warner Records and Sony Columbia wanted his track for their soundtrack, it wasn’t off the table. It’d just come down to negotiations between the two.

Still, if they could avoid it, they’d rather keep it in-house.

Mike’s face turned stern. “Rivals? Nah. They’ve fumbled too many calls at the top. We’ve already passed them. That ‘competition’ is old news.”

These days, Warner Records’ real rival was Universal Music.

That line sent Anson’s grin into full bloom.

Dustin, meanwhile, saw the conversation veering off-track. He shot Mike a frantic eyebrow-wiggle: Focus!

Anson had finally shown up today—they had to seize this chance to nail down the deal. But with Anson dropping these bombshells, blowing them away yet again, it meant they needed to bring more to the table. If Universal Music or Sony Music snatched him up instead, they’d be left crying into their coffee.

The question wasn’t if they’d re-sign him or convince him. It was how—and on what terms.

This wasn’t just about persuasion. They had to make Anson feel valued.

More than that, Warner Records needed the whole music industry to see they meant business. This contract wasn’t just about Anson—it was bigger.

Mike knew it too, which was why he felt a flicker of nerves before speaking—

Because he understood: if this deal went through, the music world would shake. After the August 31st Band, they’d be standing at another historic crossroads, holding the power to flip the market upside down.

Back in 2001, Mariah Carey signed a four-album, $80 million deal with Virgin Records—$20 million per album. A record-breaking, jaw-dropping move that rocked the industry.

People called Virgin crazy.

And, well, they weren’t wrong.

Mariah was in a tailspin—career and personal life in chaos. She signed that deal with big dreams, aiming to conquer both film and music, to claw her way out of the pain of her divorce.

It backfired hard.

Her movie Glitter pulled in a measly $4 million at the box office, losing over $20 million. Her first Virgin album tanked too—her career’s lowest point, with just two million copies sold worldwide.

Worse? The album’s four singles flopped. Three didn’t even chart, and the one that did peaked at a dismal 81.

For the first time in her decade-long career, none of her singles cracked the Top 40—forget those three that didn’t even register.

A disaster.

After one album, Virgin cut their losses, paying a penalty to end the contract early. It went down as the dumbest, wildest deal in music history—some say it even helped tank Virgin, leading to bankruptcy and a buyout.

Mariah? She walked away loaded—contract cash plus the penalty—then signed with Universal’s Island Records. Two years later, she bounced back like nothing happened. Virgin? Not so lucky.

It was a wake-up call for the whole industry.

That was less than two years ago. Now, Warner Records was gearing up for something just as massive—maybe bigger—than the Mariah-Virgin saga. You didn’t need a crystal ball to see the shockwaves it could send through the business.

And right now, it all rested in Mike’s hands. How could he not be nervous?

He looked at Anson quietly, then broke into a sudden grin. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? That ‘just passing by the office’ bit—it’s a lie, right?”

Anson chuckled. “So, you’re saying you’re impressed?”

Mike grinned wider. “Impressed? This is a full-on masterclass! But that’s why you pulled out the secret weapon, isn’t it?”

Anson’s smile brightened. “What if I said this secret weapon was meant for the Spider-Man promo push? That I was planning to record it either way—deal or no deal? That stopping by Warner today really was just a fluke. Would you buy it?”

Mike studied Anson—his earnest face, his calm vibe.

Finally, a smile spread across his own lips as he threw up his hands. “Does it matter? What really counts is what’s about to happen next.”

Chapter 1475: Earth-Shaking Changes

TMZ: “August 31st Band Splits Up, ‘Midsummer Midnight’ Becomes Their Swan Song.”

One stone stirs a thousand waves!

A single headline sends shockwaves rippling across North America.

Sure, August 31st Band burst onto the scene less than two years ago, but they’ve left a mark in their own unforgettable way.

“The Tonight Show,” “Midsummer Midnight,” European street tours, the Grammy Awards’ “Don’t Be Pretentious” performance—every step was a surprise.

The wildest, most mind-blowing part? They never even held a proper tour. Their only official public stage was the Grammys. Yet they’re widely hailed as the most electrifying, must-see live act of our time.

Millions of fans have been holding their breath, waiting for that tour announcement.

But now, it’s all over.

Boom! Boom, boom, boom!

A tidal wave crashes, the earth trembles, and the music world plunges into chaos.

Some question TMZ’s report, doubting its truth. Others flat-out deny it, refusing to believe August 31st Band is done. Then there’s the gossip crowd—did Anson ditch his bandmates, or did they finally get fed up and walk away?

And don’t forget the furious ones. They feel betrayed. At the Grammys earlier this year, the band swore they’d chase dreams and hope to the end. Now, with one quick turn, they’re calling it quits—

They trusted, and they got burned.

All of it—every argument, every hot take—keeps buzzing nonstop.

Of course, you’ve also got the sighs of regret, the sadness, the well-wishes mixed in there, showing just how deep August 31st Band’s impact runs.

“Who betrayed August 31st Band?”

“It started with Anson, it ends with Anson—August 31st Band dies by his hand.”

“No need to guess—Anson obviously dumped those deadweight losers holding him back.”

“Come on, use your head. Without Anson, there’d be no August 31st Band. All you people bashing him—got no brains? Oh, sorry, no brains? Use your knees then.”

“We saw it coming. Anson Wood’s on a whole other level. I can’t even name the other members. Breaking up was inevitable.”

“Like the Beatles—who remembers the other two? Anson Wood’s the John Lennon here.”

“My world’s falling apart. God, my faith, my dreams—it’s all gone. I’m done with bands.”

“Of course. Every band ends up splitting.”

“Oh, Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC broke up. August 31st Band’s just next in line.”

The internet explodes.

Social media isn’t a thing yet, so online comments have limited reach. But news outlets, forum threads, radio stations—it’s everywhere. Headlines flood the scene, debates climb higher and higher, filling every corner of your vision.

A sensation. An earthquake. A volcanic eruption.

People are witnessing yet another iconic idol crumble. It’s starting to feel like a curse of the times, with fame’s ugliness and filth getting a fresh new spin.

TMZ: “Not ‘splitting over musical differences’—August 31st Band parts amicably, each chasing their own musical dreams. No more albums, but the band still exists.”

Everyone: ??? What’s that supposed to mean?

People catch TMZ’s jab at bands that claim “musical differences” when it’s really just fame’s dirty laundry. Clearly, August 31st isn’t that story.

But… what the hell is TMZ blabbering about?

Can they even read their own headlines? What’s with this clunky, contradictory mess? Someone wake up the writers, please!

TMZ: “August 31st Band members to sign separately with Warner Records, starting fresh.”

TMZ: “Miles, Lily, and Connor’s new band has already signed. They’re working on an album—a legacy and a reinvention of August 31st Band, building on Anson’s foundation to find their own voice.”

TMZ: “The new band’s lead singer is still a mystery. Stepping into Anson’s shoes? Good luck with that.”

TMZ: “Warner Records doubles down on renewing with Anson, pushing for a solo album. They’ve offered a historic contract, just waiting for his yes.”

TMZ: “Universal Music and Sony Records are circling, ready to swoop in. Anson Wood’s next move is reshaping the music industry.”

News drops one after another.

The web’s a tidal wave. Social media doesn’t exist yet, but TMZ’s playing that role—churning out updates nonstop, live-blogging every twist and turn of this saga—

A roaring storm, spreading everywhere.

It’s not just casual fans eating it up. The stock market’s bouncing with every headline. Warner Records, Universal Music, Sony Records—their stocks are a rollercoaster, dipping and spiking in real time. Investors are on edge, hearts in their throats, getting a literal thrill ride.

This is Anson’s influence. This is August 31st Band’s influence. One contract, and the whole industry’s eyes are locked on it.

TMZ’s riding this wave to the top, hogging the spotlight. While everyone else scrambles for scraps, they’re the only ones with the inside scoop.

Outsiders marvel at TMZ’s reach, but insiders smell something off. Without a leak, there’s no way TMZ could be this spot-on, this fast—live-updating like it’s a play-by-play.

Something’s up.

TMZ’s rise hints at something bigger behind the scenes.

So, who’s pulling the strings? Who’s the puppet master behind TMZ?

TMZ: “Warner Records offers a historic blockbuster deal.”

TMZ: “Warner Records and Anson have reached an agreement—signing imminent.”

Historic?

What’s that mean?

Anson’s talented, no doubt. “Midsummer Midnight” was a critical and commercial smash, writing legends left and right. But he’s still young.

In Hollywood, he’s already at the top, but the studios are still hemming and hawing over the “20-million club”—

Rumor has it Anson turned down that 20-million paycheck, not caring about the numbers. Plenty of projects would’ve cut that check by now. But no one buys it.

In music, it’s the same deal. No matter how much praise he gets, he’s only dropped one album. His resume’s still light.

So, a “historic” contract? Where’d that come from?

Plus, Virgin Records’ flop is still fresh. Warner’s not crazy—why would they throw a monster deal at Anson?

It’s obvious—“clickbait.” TMZ’s just fishing for attention, stirring up drama however they can. Typical paparazzi trash.

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