The storage room wasn't large. After being filled with clutter, it felt even more cramped.
However.
Anson didn't mind at all. Calm and relaxed, he sat before the piano, shoulders open, back straight, radiating an air of ease. Even in this tiny space, he seemed to embrace the grandeur and vastness of the universe.
Without realizing it, the room fell into a quiet stillness.
His mind was completely clear—no worries, no thoughts, nothing but the music filling his head. All of his attention was focused on this moment, allowing the notes to take over.
Lily, Connor, and Miles stood at the doorway of the cramped storage room, watching Anson's performance in silence. They barely breathed, afraid any sound might disturb him.
To be honest, the performance wasn't perfect—it wasn't smooth either.
Anson's piano skills clearly didn't match his guitar prowess. He wasn't very practiced, and the piano itself probably needed tuning, leading to interruptions in the melody. Sometimes there were even sharp, discordant notes as he explored and experimented with the composition.
But!
There was something about this moment that felt like watching a top-tier performance rehearsal at Carnegie Hall. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into the music, feeling the warmth and color of the notes.
Miles was completely stunned—speechless from the shock and awe.
He came from a classical symphony background and understood composition and collaboration well. Relying on a single instrument often left the music feeling thin and flat, lacking the depth and complexity of a full arrangement. This was an undeniable truth.
That's why street musicians, who often perform with just one instrument, rarely achieve a grand, full-bodied sound. A guitar or keyboard typically suits a more mellow or melancholy style.
In theory, Anson's performance should have been no different.
Yet!
Miles could feel the layers of emotion in the piano's bright, clear notes:
Sadness, bitterness, nostalgia, loneliness; grandeur, vastness, tranquility, and boldness.
These conflicting emotions intertwined, rushing to the surface and spreading through him. Despite the tender, flowing nature of the melody, it splashed vivid colors deep into his soul.
Unconsciously, Miles could already "see" Anson stepping onto a music festival stage, millions of fans losing themselves in the melody, the grandeur of a symphony at Carnegie Hall, and Anson basking under the spotlight, arms spread wide, ready to soar.
And then.
A single star lit up the black night sky. Its weak light wasn't enough to drive away the darkness, and the night threatened to swallow the star whole. Yet the piercing sound of the piano awakened something. Deep within Miles' mind, the star suddenly blazed across the sky, stretching out in all directions.
Wow!
The night sky transformed into daylight. The whole world was bathed in brilliance and grandeur. Dizzying, breathtaking—his heart broke free, soaring along with the music.
All of this unfolded in the tiny storage room before him, the shock and wonder surging through him like an electric current, flooding him with awe.
It was unbelievable.
And then, Anson softly began to hum.
"Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh; oh-oh-oh, oh-oh."
Bitterness, but not sorrow, unfolded gently on the tongue, and Miles felt his own inspiration blossom like fireworks in his mind.
He couldn't help but start imagining when the cello should join in, how the drums and other instruments could complement the piano, layering the composition.
Piece by piece, the fog and confusion lifted.
Lily and Connor both watched Anson intently.
One man, one piano.
That was all. Anson hummed like a wandering minstrel, and while the tender melody was moving, it seemed much thinner compared to "Wake Me Up" or "Heroes."
Was that normal?
The question had barely formed in their minds before they were pulled back into the world of music.
Anson opened his mouth again—this time, not humming but singing full lyrics. As melody collided with lyrics, the chemistry between them ignited.
"I once ruled the world, commanding the tides, but now I stand alone at dawn, wandering the paths that were once mine.
Life and death were in my hands, I savored the fear in my enemies' eyes and listened to the people's cheers: 'The old king is dead, long live the king!' But now, with authority slipping through my fingers, I realize that my grand ambitions were no more than an illusion, a mirage."
Just a short verse.
Yet the simple lyrics packed a powerful punch. The grandeur of time, the weight of history, and the weariness of life all converged into an air of carefree abandon. The music suddenly brightened.
Anyone who loves music knows that having a unique voice is like starting ahead in a race. Singers who add color to their music with their voice can easily leave a lasting impression.
But artists whose music itself radiates color are truly rare—one in a million. Even if their voice isn't outstanding, their music becomes their identity. These are the ones who leave an indelible mark on history.
From "Wake Me Up" to "Heroes," Lily had sensed this but couldn't be entirely sure. Now, she finally understood.
Anson was that kind of artist—an artist whose music had its own distinct color.
His notes were his personality and his essence—his identity.
No one could replicate it.
In that moment, inspiration flowed freely. Everything else faded away. Right now, this moment, dedicated to music and only music, gave their lives meaning.
The years of persistence and struggle, the unspoken stubbornness and pride, all melted away, rekindling the passion and fire deep within their souls. The seed of "dreams" that had lain dormant suddenly burst into full bloom.
"Hear Jerusalem's bells ringing, Roman cavalry choirs singing. My sword, my shield, my missionaries on the distant frontiers. For reasons I cannot explain, once you're gone, I'll never hear honest words again—this was my reign."
An overwhelming surge of emotion.
Note: *Viva La Vida* by Coldplay.