[Age 19]
At Gopph's request, you became acting head of the Oak Family, shouldering its responsibilities until his official ascension as Dreammaster.
The Family's darkest facets unfolded before you—black clouds stretching endlessly, a cage without exit.
This year, Robin turned eighteen. She entered Penacony's hottest talent competition, where advancing past preliminaries meant becoming a galaxy-wide sensation.
On screen, Robin radiated grace, breezing through auditions with classic Penacony ballads. Fan polls consistently ranked her top ten.
"Thank you for your support! More songs are coming—and special thanks to my family."
Her smile outshone studio lights.
"You watch this trash?"
Annie hugged a couch pillow, astonished. The Anming she knew disdained frivolous entertainment.
"You like that Robin girl?"
"Yes."
"What?"
Annie gaped. Where was the cold pragmatist who'd say [Women? Only Penacony matters]?
"I write her lyrics."
Rain pattered against the window as Anming set aside his notebook. A year of drafts, yet none captured what he sought.
Annie leaned closer. "I dabbled in music too. Once... never mind." Her fingers traced the Iris Family insignia on her sleeve.
"We've known each other a year."
"Thereabouts."
"You've never asked... right?"
Anming's eyes held no pity—only quiet respect.
"I'm lucky to serve the Family." Annie watched raindrops race down glass. "Boring story: girl survives disaster, becomes an Iris attendant for credits."
"Just short on rest. No tragedy." She shrugged, as if recounting someone else's life.
From the desk, she produced a weathered journal. "See? Wrote songs too."
"Couch-bound, bleary-eyed, hair a mess"
"Yet dreaming of silver-screen finesse~"
A battered acoustic guitar appeared—utterly incongruous in high-tech Penacony, yet its chords rang truer than any dream-bubble symphony.
Rain and light wove threads of melody into something golden.
Everyone once had dreams. Life buried them under layers of dust—but polish away the grime, and they'd shine again.
Anming saw it then: that unbroken spirit. While Penacony caged others, Annie sang like a bird beyond bars.
Hardship gave her sorrow; she answered with song.
As the last note faded, Anming applauded. "Beautiful."
"High praise from the great man himself." Annie grinned, tossing him the guitar.
"If I were great, the world wouldn't look like this."
His dream-right hand fumbled slightly before finding the rhythm. The melody that emerged was sunlight given sound.
Annie watched, back against the wall, eyes closed.
The music lasted only moments before being drowned by commercials.
Finals Night
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Penacony's decennial Harmonia Finals! After grueling preliminaries, our twelve finalists stand ready—"
"Who will claim this year's Golden Phrase and eternal glory?"
Backstage, Robin fretted over Sunday. "Brother... are you okay?"
For three hours, he'd looked ready to vomit.
"Fine."
Sunday dragged Anming aside, pallid. "I'm so nervous I might puke. Help."
Anming: "?"
"Wait—today's your finals?"
Sunday groaned. The Oak Family's youngest acting reverend was unraveling.
He'd been a wreck for days—how could Anming hum tunes so casually?
"Wasn't it you who said Robin's detractors deserve deafness?" Anming clapped his shoulder. "Trust her."
"I do!"
Sunday clenched his fists. "If those netizens slander her again, I'll crawl through the screens and execute them myself."
Since Robin's debut, baseless scandals had proliferated. Anming sometimes caught her staring at hurtful comments, lips pressed tight.
Yet she persevered—stronger with each performance.
"Robin will conquer them all with talent."
Anming believed in her. In their song.
The seed planted in childhood had grown tall. Now it bloomed.
Time for the little bird to spread her wings.
As Anming polished Robin's halo with a cloth, her emerald eyes met his—soft, unwavering.
"I love your song."
A blush warmed her cheeks.
Three days prior, he'd finally completed her lyrics. Robin's initial delight had swiftly turned to flustered joy.
Those words...
They were practically a confession.