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*Chapter 851: A Terrible Day*

Camila Slater hurriedly left the subway station, having just endured an absolutely dreadful day.

In the morning, her father called to say he went to the hospital because of blurred vision, only to discover a tumor in his brain. It was unclear whether it was benign or malignant, and they had to wait for further tests. He admitted he was a bit scared.

At lunch, she caught her boyfriend passionately kissing her best friend. Not only did she lose love, but she also lost friendship. It made her question herself—was it her fault? Was she not good enough, leading both love and friendship to betray her?

In the afternoon, she made two mistakes at work due to her distracted mind, then spent three hours fixing them. Although she managed to prevent any serious consequences, she was disappointed in her lack of responsibility and ended up arguing with her immediate supervisor.

She didn’t like herself.

Everyone seems to have days like that, days where, without any real reason or warning, you start to loathe yourself and question your life.

Today was one of those days.

She needed some space to breathe. Leaving the office, she wandered aimlessly through the city, trying to find some light amid the exhaustion and numbness of adult life.

But it wasn’t easy. The city was full of lifeless adults, each one a wounded soul.

Even in Paris, it was the same.

However.

Camila’s steps faltered as she realized her mind kept circling back to the street performance she had seen at the subway station. The melodies, the smiles, the youthful energy lingered in her heart.

Even several hundred meters away from the station, she still found herself humming along. Closing her eyes, the images became vivid again.

Originally, she thought it was just a random street performance she happened to pass by, something she’d pause for briefly before continuing with her life.

But now, Camila realized that those ten minutes might have been the only joyful moments in her entire day. For a short while, she forgot her troubles, her pain, and the unrelenting grind of life. Not only did she smile, but she couldn’t resist dancing along with the music.

She looked down and pulled a record from her canvas bag, studying it closely. Unable to help herself, she turned around and walked back as if in a trance.

To be honest, Camila didn’t know why she was going back. Was it to ask for an autograph? Or just to enjoy another street performance in the subway tunnel?

But she simply wanted to return.

An impulse—and Camila followed it.

Her hurried steps quickened until she was almost running. Just as she was about to turn into the subway station, she stopped abruptly at the exit, turning her head toward a bustling café on the corner. She hadn’t even had a chance to take in the scene fully before her heart felt something.

Simple. Unpretentious. Pure. Everything was about the music—just the music.

In an instant, she could see the joy in their smiles and the happiness dancing between the notes.

"I’m trying to do the right thing. Roar!"

"I’ve been living a lonely life. Hey!"

"I’ve been sleeping on one side of the bed. Roar!"

It was... something magical.

The lead singer crooned softly while the other three members shouted out the simplest of refrains—one "Roar!" here, a "Hey!" there—woven effortlessly into the melody. Though their instruments were basic, the shouts felt like a part of the music, almost like an a cappella arrangement.

The singing, a bit weathered, felt like the voice of a wanderer.

The shouts, passionate and powerful, echoed through valleys and deserts.

The grandeur and unpredictability of life, the bumps and hardships of living, spread subtly through the words.

"I’ve been sleeping in my bed. Hey!"

"I’ve been sleeping in my bed. Roar! Hey!"

That loneliness, that melancholy, that confusion… it all spilled out unintentionally, but without overwhelming you, without making it feel bitter. Instead, there was a certain carefree ease to it.

Without realizing it, Camila moved closer, as if drawn by a black hole, inch by inch, until she stood across the street from the café, silently watching. Her eyes lingered on their faces, devouring the smiles and brightness.

Mournful but not tragic. Bitter but not harsh.

Lonely, perhaps. Lost, maybe. But never without hope.

Thud, thud.

Camila’s heartbeat synced with the rhythm, and every cell in her body seemed to feel the music’s lightness and grace, pulling her in.

The performance at the subway station had easily caught her ear. But now, the melodies and notes gripped her heart.

"Roar! Roar! Hey!"

"So tell me, what is family? I’d trade all my blood for it. I don’t know where I belong, I don’t know where I went wrong…"

Camila was hooked.

Though the performance had a breezy, carefree quality, the sadness in the music struck her right in the heart.

That was her. That was exactly her. Her confusion, her fear, her sorrow, her helplessness—everything overwhelmed her.

And what about the answer?

"But I can write this song."

A pause. The lead singer, Anson, looked up at the band members.

Lily stood up. Miles stood up. Connor stood up. They all stopped playing and raised their hands, clapping to the beat.

Clap. Clap.

Only Anson remained seated, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings. The melody was joyful, clear, like a bubbling stream rushing down, its soft notes flowing through rays of sunlight, embracing the world’s greenery and warmth.

The setting sun lazily kissed the skin, its gentle warmth melting both heart and body in the glow.

Even in loneliness, there’s a song to sing.

Even in sorrow, there’s a dance to be had.

Because life’s rhythm never stops. Never.

"I belong to you. You belong to me. You’re my sweetheart."

"I belong to you. You belong to me. You’re my honey."

Light, joyful, dancing.

A smile blossomed in the twilight.

"Roar! Hey!"

"Roar! Hey!"

Lily was laughing. Connor and Miles were laughing, too.

Their gazes met, full of smiles. Clapping and cheering, they started to dance, moving with the rhythm before they even realized it.

No rehearsal. No agreement. Pure spontaneity. Connor was the first to step out, dancing the simplest moves to the basic rhythm.

A bit clumsy.

But oddly, each of Connor’s steps landed perfectly on beat, his footsteps and the claps blending into another layer of music.

Lily and Miles were laughing so hard they could barely stand.

Then Connor extended an invitation.

Miles shook his head in mock disdain, but Lily didn’t mind. She joined Connor, twirling like a ballerina.

Of course, it wasn’t professional or impressive.

But Lily’s skirt spun, glowing in the fading light, flowing like a gentle stream.

It had nothing to do with anyone else. It was just a celebration between four young souls.

*Chapter 852: Let Your Imagination Fly*

Roar! Hey! Roar! Hey!

Once, and then again.

Cheering, laughing, dancing, running.

Youth is burning brightly.

Even though the melody is filled with nostalgia, and the song carries sorrow, they still bloom wildly, seizing the moment, grabbing hold of the present, and fully enjoying every second.

Unconsciously, Camilla's heart swelled with excitement, her blood boiling.

She had an urge—a strong desire to join in, to sing and dance alongside them. But the last thread of adult rationality pulled the reins, stopping her from letting loose.

She still knew to read the room, to gauge the situation.

Looking around, Camilla was stunned—

The place was packed, teeming with people.

Layer upon layer, crowds stretched far beyond what she could see. Before she even realized it, she had been completely surrounded.

When did this happen?

A beat too slow, Camilla finally realized that it was rush hour, and people pouring out of the subway station had seemingly stopped in their tracks, one after another.

At this moment, the crowd wasn’t beyond imagination—about 200 people, maybe even less. Yet they completely blocked off the small corner of the street. What was truly surprising was that the noise here was drawing in even more people. Step by step, more and more were gathering.

One layer, then another, expanding outward.

The most absurd, funniest part? The performance had no speakers, no microphones—just raw, acoustic sound.

The band wasn’t like the Three Tenors, who didn’t need microphones to fill a whole theater, so the people at the back couldn’t hear the music properly. At best, they could only catch a bit of the rhythm and melody. But that didn’t stop the growing crowd.

This was rare.

Because Paris is a “cold” city—rarely do people stop to watch a spectacle. Everyone has their own life and refuses to pause for someone else.

Yet, here it was.

Camilla was filled with amazement.

But the band didn’t care at all, lost in their own world, celebrating.

Roar! Hey!

The guitar in Anson’s arms gradually climbed in melody, sometimes rapid, sometimes joyful. Notes soared into the sky, blending with the blazing orange sunset.

Unfortunately, it felt a bit thin—

Just a single acoustic guitar in the rush of a bustling crowd was easily drowned out. If the audience grew even a little larger, the guitar’s melody might not carry beyond the inner circle, leaving those on the outskirts with nothing but silence.

“Miles!”

Anson noticed too and called out.

Miles, who had been watching Lily and Connor with hesitation, looked a bit downcast. But when he heard Anson’s call, he turned.

“Cello. The cello!”

Anson kept reminding him.

Everything was spontaneous, so the band members lacked some coordination. Luckily, after three weeks of street performances, they’d built up a bit of chemistry, and Miles got the message.

Without hesitation, Miles opened his cello case, quickly and skillfully setting up his beloved instrument, taking his seat in record time.

Miles glanced at Anson, who gave him a signal with his eyes:

Slower. Ease into it.

Miles responded confidently, pressing down on a string with his left hand. He didn’t use the bow, plucking the strings with his right hand.

The deep, rich cello notes became the foundation, perfectly blending with Anson’s guitar.

One clear, one deep. One soaring, one steady.

They echoed each other.

Suddenly, there was depth.

Lily and Connor understood immediately, stopping their random dancing. Instead, they stood by and shouted in sync.

“Roar! Hey!”

“Roar! Hey!”

Anson began to sing again.

“I don’t think you belong with him, imagine a future where you’re with me, driving to Chinatown. I’ll be standing at the corner of Canal and Bowery, she’ll be by my side.”

No longer holding back, but fully embracing the future, bravely and boldly chasing dreams—like chasing the sun.

Amid the cheers of "Roar" and "Hey," a new attitude toward life emerged—carefree, wild, confident, free. Even though life isn’t always perfect, it doesn’t mean you have to hesitate and hold back. In the bright, joyful singing, sunlight slowly poured down.

There was no sadness or loneliness, just smiles lifting at the corners of lips.

Miles’ eyes lit up, and his cello fully joined the performance, grand, majestic, and full of passion. The two strings collided and intertwined.

The heart, with wings, soared freely.

“I belong to you, you belong to me, you’re my sweetheart.”

The voice climbed higher.

Emotions brightened.

The same melody, the same lyrics, yet Anson injected a completely different energy into the performance, making the song and the rendition feel entirely new.

“I belong to you, you belong to me, you’re my honey.”

Suddenly, Anson pressed down on the guitar strings and looked at Miles.

The emotions paused at their peak, the crowd’s eyes naturally following Anson’s gaze. The orange sunset poured down onto Miles.

A cello, appearing on the street—slightly unfamiliar, slightly awkward, as the orange glow danced on the deep red instrument, breathtaking.

Ha.

A smile bloomed fully on Miles’ face as he played with abandon.

The rich sound of the cello exploded with unprecedented passion, from low to high, from humble to flamboyant. The clash of classical and folk music revealed an unbelievable charm.

On the street, the melody flowing from the cello felt like a French chanson—gentle yet grand, light yet graceful, stirring the soul.

Meanwhile, the hidden rhythm was dancing, as if the twilight glow could be seen spinning and leaping.

The world shimmered and flowed.

Be bold, be crazy, be adventurous, dare to break free and dream, and you’ll open the door to a whole new world.

Who knew the unknown could be so beautiful?

Music, as a bridge, united everyone. Before anyone could even think clearly, their hearts had already betrayed them, beating along to the rhythm.

Not just the audience—the performers too.

Miles was focused and calm, lost in the moment.

His cheeks flushed slightly, a thin layer of sweat appeared on his forehead, but the bright light in his eyes sparkled in the dusk.

That was passion. That was enthusiasm. That was why he loved music.

Even without a smile on his lips, his spirit was soaring, dancing in the twilight, transforming into notes that joyfully leaped at his fingertips, across the strings, in his steps, and on the corners of his mouth.

Strum, strum.

Anson’s guitar strings served as the foundation, subtly enhancing the grandeur and elegance of the cello until Miles’ performance hit a pause.

Suddenly, Anson stood up, guitar in hand, and stepped forward.

The cello and guitar swapped roles. Now, the guitar took center stage, with the cello as the accompaniment, and the melody roared through the small street corner like the Milky Way falling from the heavens.

Clear, light, bright.

The notes took on vibrant, colorful hues, as if touched by magic.

In that moment, the street corner became a stage—the very center of the world, the heart of the Earth.

*Chapter 853: Enjoy Today*

Thump, thump.

Strum, strum, strum...

The guitar strings sweep quickly, with bright, clear notes pouring down like a roaring waterfall, flooding the entire space in a continuous, unstoppable flow.

Performing is a form of artistic creation, fully expressing Anson's joy and happiness at this moment. It’s not about forgetting or escaping but about opening his arms to embrace life — including the pain and struggle, the setbacks and torment. Don't dismiss everything because of the hurt, because life is long and still holds many more things worth remembering.

The melody surges.

Anson looks at Miles; Miles looks at Anson. The clash of stringed instruments somehow creates distinct layers in this moment. They don’t even need vocals — just the notes and melody alone can vividly convey the bright emotions from deep within their souls, grand and powerful, bold and surging.

It boils, it burns, it roars.

Then...

Lily and Connor join in, clapping their hands, singing loudly and freely—

"Roar! Hey!"

Camilla can't hold back anymore. To hell with what others think, to hell with societal rules. She just wants to focus on herself, to embrace her life fully.

Maybe tomorrow it’ll all end.

Maybe tomorrow more awful, crappy things will happen.

Maybe the pain will never go away.

But she won't deny herself, and she won’t let those storms swallow her whole. She’s determined to live and tightly grasp every bit of truth within her reach.

"Roar!"

Camilla shouts along.

"Hey!"

Strangely, her lips lift into a smile, blooming proudly under the twilight.

Laughter echoes in her chest.

Ignoring the glances of others, she claps and jumps alongside Lily and Connor. Who needs instruments? Her own hands and legs are enough to beat out the rhythm and become part of the music.

Singing at the top of their lungs—

"Roar! Hey!"

Soon, Camilla notices she’s not alone.

Looking left, she sees others. Looking right, more companions.

They all jump and clap together, cheering in unison.

Quietly, the entire audience has become part of this performance—

No one can resist.

They watch Anson and the others, and Anson and the others watch them back, searching for smiles on each other's faces, where happiness and joy reflect.

They can see each other's eyes and expressions, feel the trembling and excitement, and even the clarity of their breathing and heartbeats.

Everything is so real, so warm, so intense, almost tangible to the soul.

This isn’t a stage. Everyone stands on the same level, in the same space. It’s not even a performance, just a reawakening of deep-seated passion.

A kind of purity, and also a kind of simplicity.

This, it turns out, is music.

The space stretches outward, no longer confined to a small café, but extending along the street, spreading as far as the eye can see, everything becoming part of this vast sea.

Lily laughs, and Connor does too.

They raise their hands high, like conductors, prompting the entire audience to raise their hands, becoming the fifth member of the band, clapping along to the beat.

Then, singing at the top of their lungs—

"Roar!"

"Hey!"

One shout after another, layer by layer, eventually transforming into a wave of energy, crashing down with a force that seems to stop all of Paris in its tracks.

Finally, Anson stands at the front of the crowd, singing loudly.

In reality, it’s futile.

With no microphone and no sound system, Anson’s voice can’t carry far. It’s completely drowned out by the surging sounds around him, and the audience just a bit further back can’t even see his mouth move, let alone hear his singing.

But that doesn’t matter.

What matters is the atmosphere of the moment — a kind of emotion, a release, an immersion.

Anson doesn’t care if anyone hears him. He sings with all his might.

“Love... we need it right now... we long for it…”

The drawn-out note climbs higher in the air.

Then, he repeats it.

“Love, we need it right now…” an octave up. “We long for it…” another octave higher.

His soaring high notes ignite all the passion and enthusiasm.

At this point, the crowd can no longer contain themselves, jumping, shaking their heads, and using all their energy to feel and follow the rhythm, losing themselves in it.

Finally—

“Because we’re bleeding.”

Another octave.

Just as the high note is about to reach a new peak, Anson suddenly stops, a flawless conclusion that captures all the attention, holding everyone in his grasp.

Like a magician.

Even without a microphone or sound system, even with just one guitar and one voice, even without a stage, everyone standing on the same level, Anson has this energy. His invisible conductor’s baton is like strings in the hands of a puppet master.

Controlling the entire crowd.

Camilla’s heart races, her ears roar, and the world spins, but she holds her breath, her gaze fixed on that figure.

Inexplicably, she feels a surge of emotion.

In her vision, she can see that man’s lips curl into a small smile, and in an instant, the brilliant and vibrant sunset pales in comparison.

"Ha."

Anson lets out a soft laugh.

"I belong to you. You belong to me. You’re my sweetheart.”

Not just Anson. Connor and Lily join in, singing loudly together.

"I belong to you. You belong to me. You’re my honey.”

The melody climbs, the cello’s grandeur, the guitar’s clarity, the power of claps and stomps all collide together, like a symphony.

The high notes soar, smiles bloom, and adrenaline surges. No microphones, no frills, just a voice — the charm of live performance fully displayed.

"I belong to you. You belong to me. You’re my sweetheart."

Finally, unable to hold back, Camilla joins in the singing.

"I belong to you..."

Camilla quickly realizes she’s not alone. The crowd erupts with an overwhelming energy, everyone singing together.

Unbelievable!

Inconceivable!

Camilla can be 100% sure this is the first time she’s heard this song and seen this band. She knew nothing about them before, and others must be the same.

But it doesn’t matter. Everyone effortlessly becomes part of it, part of the music, part of the performance.

"You belong to me..."

As she sings, Camilla doesn’t know why, but her eyes fill with tears, blurring her vision.

She’s not sad, so what’s going on?

All the day’s pressure and frustration, the pain, the struggle, the indecision, seem unimportant now because she’s found her center. Her heart beats stronger than ever before, and the burning blood seems to ignite her life force.

So, are these tears of happiness?

Camilla doesn’t care. She just jumps, immerses herself, and sings with all her heart.

"You’re my honey..."

Never has a performance been so exhilarating and free. Her mood soars, as if she only needs to open her arms and the sky and sun will fall into her embrace.

The whole world belongs to her.

*Chapter 854: The Emotion Continues*

Bit by bit, it was unleashed completely.

Step by step, climbing to the peak.

Finally reaching the summit, Anson and the band members exchanged a glance and, with a sudden move, pressed down on the guitar strings, halting at the climax, ending the performance with grandeur.

The sound, cut off instantly.

The crowd, gasping for air, faces flushed, stared blankly at the four figures at the center. Their eyes brimmed with soaring passion, unable to return to reality, minds floating in the clouds, with their boiling blood still surging, suspended in midair.

Anson and the others were no exception.

Panting heavily, drenched in sweat, their bodies burning hot.

Yet, their eyes were bright, shining brilliantly.

Each of them looked like T-1000 Terminators emerging from molten lava, bathed in flames but unscathed.

Still wanting more!

In the next moment, Anson took a step forward, slung the guitar behind him, raised both hands high, and looked at the dense crowd before him.

He clapped his hands again—

"Ho! Hey!"

No instruments, no melody, like an a cappella, but revealing the raw essence of music, letting all the passion and frenzy from within explode outward.

Back and forth, the echo reverberated.

Camila was the first to raise her hands high, as if ready to release all the air and energy from her chest. Her mind was a roaring void.

"Ho! Hey!"

A four-beat rhythm.

Only now did the crowd have a chance to temporarily break free from the atmosphere, their heads slowly returning to earth like hot air balloons, feeling the melody pulsating and trembling in their hearts.

It was a release, a relaxation, and freedom.

"Ho! Hey!"

Two sets of four beats.

Gradually, the emotions and aftertastes rolled on the tips of their tongues, different flavors, different feelings, all surging up at once.

Echoing in the air, leaving endless afterglow.

Finally, it erupted into cheers—

Ah, ah, ahh!

A full burst of energy.

Only now did Anson and the others have time to take in the scene before them.

Directly in front, layers upon layers of rippling crowds stretched out endlessly. People were packed so tightly that traffic in the outer streets was completely gridlocked, with rows of cars stuck in a jam.

And that wasn’t all.

Around this small street corner, the surrounding apartment buildings were crowded with people on balconies and at windows. Some even brought out their own instruments—

Violins, trombones, saxophones, French horns.

The variety was beyond imagination.

In this narrow street corner, the music bounced off the walls, creating an echo effect that spiraled overhead, transforming into a unique concert hall experience, and ultimately serving as a catalyst for the passion ignited.

Most astonishing of all, the subway exit was completely blocked, rendering it useless. Commuters from the rush hour had to exit from other stations, but out of curiosity, many returned, becoming part of the growing crowd.

A cycle.

This tiny street corner now held an uncountable number of people. Eight hundred? A thousand? Even more? There was no way to count.

The cheers and shouts reverberated endlessly, with no sign of stopping. Then Camila heard someone shout—

"Encore."

Camila snapped back to reality.

Yes, encore.

A performance like this couldn’t end here—they wanted more.

The chants broke through, and Camila joined in with the crowd.

One voice, then another.

Gradually, the cheers transformed into a deep, inner calling, sweeping through the crowd like a tidal wave, weaving everyone together into one.

This scene, so grand, so magnificent.

Lily and Connor, both stared in disbelief at what they were witnessing—

Was this a coincidence?

It happened in New York, and now in Paris too.

When they let go of their obsessions, desires, and greed, returning to the purity of music, finding their passion and love for it, their music resonated and received an overwhelming response.

Thinking back, it was the same at Alexanderplatz in Berlin.

Time and again, they faced the same challenge and came to the same conclusion.

They had been chasing the dream of performing on a major stage, leaving the streets behind, truly standing before thousands of people under the spotlight.

Even though they had played on "The Tonight Show" and garnered national attention, that wasn’t a real music stage—it was just a small stage for a talk show, recorded in a tiny studio.

But a real music stage is something different.

Leaving aside the massive concert stages that could hold tens of thousands, even a formal performance stage that could hold a thousand or two thousand people had always eluded them.

Did they desire it?

Of course.

That’s why the European street tour had become more and more disheartening. They had spent too long on the streets and sincerely longed for a real stage. No motivational speeches or success formulas mattered—their desire for the stage was stronger than ever.

But today, their perspective had shifted.

Maybe they had placed too much importance on the stage, forgetting what truly mattered. Maybe they were chasing a grand dream so much that they forgot to enjoy what they already had.

Perhaps what they longed for had always been right in front of them, but they had been too blinded by greed and ambition to see it.

Looking around, they couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion.

Turning their heads, Lily and Connor looked at Miles, who was watching Anson with joy and amazement. They followed his gaze.

The joy and happiness were so simple, so pure, yet so radiant that it was impossible to look away.

So, was this the happiness and dream they had been chasing all along?

"Encore!"

"Encore!"

The cheers, deafening, swept through the crowd.

Anson turned to look at his bandmates, smiling broadly.

"What do you say?"

His eyes playfully challenged them: Can you handle it?

Miles shrugged lightly, as if to say, "Of course." He looked at Lily and Connor.

Connor, looking affronted as if insulted, quickly turned and grabbed his bass, joining Anson.

Lily wasn’t about to be outdone, setting up her keyboard.

"Encore!"

The cheers and shouts continued, growing even louder.

The entire sky was ablaze.

Finally, the band was ready—

A bit unexpected, a bit sudden, but no matter. After so many street performances, they were used to handling anything thrown at them.

The four exchanged glances, then all eyes turned to Miles.

At this moment, what song could be more fitting than "Wake Me Up"?

Anson turned, raised his hand, and made a grasping motion in the air. The roaring crowd miraculously quieted down, like ripples slowly spreading outward. In just a moment, everyone fell silent, holding their breath. The deafening chants for an encore dissolved into a wave of anticipation.

"One, two, three..."

Under Anson’s gaze, Miles took a deep breath and strummed the strings.

*Chapter 855: The Mysterious Lead Singer*

Captivated, lost, as if in a dream—

Even after the performance ended, and even as the crowd gradually dispersed, my mind was still buzzing, struggling to distinguish between reality and fantasy.

"...God, that was like a dream."

"I'm obsessed with them."

"Can you believe it? We actually became part of the live show."

"Wow, if I hadn’t experienced it myself and knew this wasn’t planned ahead of time, I wouldn’t believe anyone telling me this."

"I mean, their music was just that good."

"Wait, what was the band’s name again?"

"Why does the lead singer look familiar, like that actor who played Spider-Man?"

"Anson Wood? No way. Anson Wood is just a pretty face, period. Nothing more. Did you see how that lead singer controlled the stage?"

"A hidden gem, absolute treasure. Where did this come from?"

"But seriously, I really think that lead singer looks like Anson Wood."

"...Could it be?"

The murmurs and chatter were endless.

People couldn't stop talking, even as they left the venue. Strangers and strangers, no one cared—they were all headed home in the same direction, striking up conversations without needing introductions. Just sharing this common experience was enough to form an instant connection.

The excitement was spreading in all directions.

It just couldn’t stop.

Meanwhile, the exit of the subway station was still buzzing with activity.

After the show, the crowd's first reaction wasn’t to leave, but rather to swarm forward, trying to express their excitement and joy even further.

Unfortunately, words were pale and powerless, incapable of capturing even a fraction of the overwhelming emotions inside. In the end, all that was left was a mass of people screaming "Ahhh!" in unison, which still didn’t do justice to the crowd's fervor.

Luckily, there was a more straightforward solution—

Records.

Owning a record from the band would be like having a ray of sunshine to brighten up the dreariness of everyday commutes, brought to life by a simple portable player.

There was no doubt—it was worth it.

One after another, the spectators eagerly lined up to buy the record without hesitation.

Camilla was no exception. Even though she already had a record in her canvas tote, she didn’t mind buying another one to keep in her collection.

She knew she would be listening to it over and over again, and it would be a shame if the disc got scratched.

She stood in line patiently, following the slow-moving queue. Although the wait was long, she was filled with joy and excitement.

Sure, she had a terrible day, and the scars and pains were still there, with problems still waiting for her to deal with.

But now, none of it seemed to matter. Any difficulty, any storm—these were just parts of life that would eventually pass. The only thing she could do was seize the moment and enjoy every second of it.

All the way to the ends of the earth.

Camilla’s eyes were naturally drawn to the band’s lead singer—

There was something about him. Even in the midst of a massive, surging crowd, he effortlessly commanded attention.

Camilla didn’t shy away, looking him up and down with confidence. But as she kept watching, she realized something seemed off.

Originally, Camilla thought the band was just another struggling British indie band. After all, Paris and London were only a bridge apart, and it wasn’t uncommon for bands to come to Paris to busk on the streets.

However, the more she looked, the more the lead singer reminded her of Anson Wood.

Two years ago, Anson took Paris Fashion Week by storm with Dior, sparking endless discussion. Then last year, he dominated the public eye with the unbelievable success of two blockbuster films.

In Paris, it was no different.

However, the artsy crowd in Paris tended to be more critical:

Is Anson a model or an actor? Or just another Hollywood product?

Their words often carried a hint of disdain.

Parisians preferred simpler, more focused artists—those who dedicated years to cultivating their talent in their own little corner of the world, waiting to bloom into something truly extraordinary.

Like the indie band before her.

But—

Camilla couldn't reconcile the image of Anson with the lead singer she was staring at. She began to doubt herself.

Could she have mistaken him for someone else?

Maybe.

Especially considering how the lead singer was dressed—just a simple T-shirt and jeans, nothing like Anson’s fashion-forward, statement-making outfits. His natural charm shone through in a much more down-to-earth way.

The more she looked, the less he resembled Anson.

Then, it was finally Camilla’s turn in line.

She was about to buy another record, but at the last second, she hesitated and turned back.

"Sorry, but... are you Anson?" she asked.

Anson was taken aback for a moment. "Yes."

Camilla blinked. "Anson Wood?"

Anson shrugged lightly. "Yes."

Camilla blurted out, "Damn."

The curse slipped out as her eyes widened in disbelief.

Anson raised a finger to his lips, "Shh."

Camilla, completely stunned, walked away in a daze.

Even after leaving the crowd, she still couldn’t believe her own conclusion—

Was that really Anson Wood?

She stood there, trying to recall every detail, but she still couldn’t be sure. Anson seemed so calm and collected that she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Taking a deep breath, Camilla turned and ran home.

She needed the internet to help her figure this out.

So, how should she search?

Anson Wood—yes, search for Anson first.

However, the results were limited.

Camilla did notice one thing: Anson was starring in a film called The Elephant, which had been selected for the main competition at the Cannes Film Festival. This meant Anson would be arriving in France soon.

This would be his first return to France since his breakthrough at Paris Fashion Week two years ago.

But this wasn’t enough to prove anything.

Next step.

Camilla searched through the band’s record, scanning the details, then entered "August 31st"—

No results, just a calendar.

How about the keyword "band"?

Still nothing useful, leaving Camilla feeling a bit frustrated.

Clearly, the band was an unknown, just as she had suspected. Even the American media hadn’t linked Anson to the band yet.

Was everything just Camilla’s imagination? Was the lead singer joking?

Still, Camilla didn’t give up. She kept her cool and continued to search, page by page.

Gradually, she started to find some information. The band had been touring and performing on streets across various cities, and some people on forums were beginning to notice this indie group.

It was clear that the band had been performing on the streets of Europe for some time—

Heading south.

And then, Camilla stumbled upon a forum where a helpful user had posted a link.

Wait, what’s this?