"The Harmonia Selection's champion has been decided—Miss Robin, who topped both preliminary popularity and performance rankings, now claims the crown as Penacony's next Harmonia Ambassador!"
"Her original finale piece [Red High Heels] has skyrocketed to #1 on Penacony's music charts overnight, simultaneously topping the Galactic Pop Chart and trending #1 across the cosmos."
"Sources reveal the lyrics were penned by Robin's exclusive songwriter—their first collaboration. Fans eagerly await future works."
"Live fan reactions—"
"Robin is divinity incarnate! I lived just to witness this performance!"
"Robin doesn't need the Harmonia Grand Prix to prove her worth—the Grand Prix needs Robin to validate its prestige!"
"I knew this girl had potential ten years ago! What? Don't believe I'm an OG fan?"
The camera suddenly captured a masked white-haired man waving a banner and hoarsely shouting: "Robin reigns supreme!"
None other than the president of Robin's fanclub, now voiceless from cheering.
"Miss Robin, countless fans await your next release. Any teasers?"
On screen, Robin cradled her trophy with effortless grace. "Please look forward to it~"
Her left hand held the award aloft—a silent tribute to Anming and Sunday.
Confetti swirled around her like enchanted rain, catching in azure tresses and starry eyes.
Under the cosmos, Robin stood at the galaxy's heart—incandescent.
Anming watched from the shadows as his little bird shook off her shackles, wings outstretched toward infinite skies.
If this was her dream, let it become reality.
"Sister..."
In a corner, Sunday lowered his glowsticks. The stage's brilliance reflected in his eyes as fractured light.
Soaring high—or falling endlessly?
To him, Robin seemed to plunge through cerulean void toward some distant, unreachable horizon.
He feared the sky would scar her.
Yet today demanded only joy. Sunday knew he couldn't cage her forever. True freedom meant open skies.
From that night onward, Robin's legend unfolded across Penacony.
Within a month, her face dominated the Golden Hour's holographic billboards—a cerulean-haired goddess signing her name in lipstick, etching miracles.
The girl from humble origins now stood atop Penacony's grandest stage, a favorite for the Harmonia Grand Prix.
In interviews, she glossed over past hardships, praising instead her family's support: Sunday's managerial dedication, Anming's lyrics woven just for her.
Camera-ready perfection.
"Why?"
Robin nibbled her lip. "It's your song. Your name should be there." She wanted the world to know him.
"Recognition isn't my pursuit." Anming tweaked her pout into a smile.
She retaliated by squishing his cheeks, molding his face like clay—a childish side fans never saw.
Even as a superstar, she remained his little bird.
"Our star can't afford scandals," Anming chuckled, enduring her kneading.
Robin's eyes darkened. "But... I want to fulfill your dreams too."
"You already have." His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away invisible sorrow.
She yearned to share the stage with him, to play their childhood melody together.
"What if it's not a scandal?" She stood abruptly.
"Tomorrow's headlines would drown your fledgling career. The sky would vanish."
He understated the brutality. Without her marketability, she'd be devoured.
This was only her first flight.
Just last week, Sunday had shredded dozens of indecent endorsement offers, raging at advertisers who dared tarnish Robin's purity.
Such ugliness would never touch her.
Robin pouted, understanding yet displeased. Comfort me or I'll sulk.
"Rest well. Dawn comes early for your shoot."
"Hmph."
She turned away, the curve of her back a silent rebuke. Adulthood had honed her every movement into lethal charm.
Why is he so unaffected? Am I... unattractive?
When silence stretched too long, she glanced back—only to find Anming peacefully asleep.
Her clenched fist hovered above his forehead... then lowered.
Sliding closer, she wrapped around his arm like ivy, breathing in his scent.
Sunday found them like this—Robin curled against Anming, smiling in her dreams.