[Age 20]
As acting head of the Oak Family, your responsibilities multiplied—and the Family's darkest facets unveiled themselves.
Gopph, now Dreammaster, endorsed you as his successor. Your deeds had already won the Bloodline's loyalty.
When your image graced screens, the public marveled—that one-armed figure radiated divinity.
"New Oak Family Head's Shocking Identity!"
"Tragedy's Survivor: The Will Behind the Scars!"
"Fallen Prodigy's Revenge Arc—Life Imitating Art?"
Anming skimmed the headlines, pausing at the entertainment section—80% Robin coverage, as expected.
Since her debut a year prior, Robin's fame had exploded galaxy-wide. Her second original single, Lonesome Swing in the Galaxy, catapulted her beyond Penacony.
For the first time in chart history, the Galactic Pop Rankings' top two spots belonged to one artist. Sunday's prophecy had materialized:
None with eyes and ears could resist Robin.
Her rain-washed emerald gaze, flowing cerulean hair, and girl choreography captivated millions—but above all, it was her voice.
Untainted by worldly noise.
A true celestial hymn.
No descriptor fit better.
Robin dominated trending lists, even drawing the Interastral Peace Corporation's attention.
Their emissary—Jade—met Anming privately.
"You care for that girl," she observed. Anming didn't deny it.
"I'll partner with the IPC personally for her resources."
His smile was bulletproof. "A more lucrative deal, no?"
Jade studied him. This twenty-year-old's confidence suggested his worth exceeded the Oak Bloodline itself.
Absurd.
Yet the chips clinked onto the table.
"All or nothing," Jade quoted. "Pleasure doing business."
She shook his left hand. What does this one-armed boy-king promise?
A gamble worth watching.
Post-meeting, IPC lifted all suppression on Robin's fame—flooding core ad spaces with her image.
[Age 21]
You rarely returned home. Between managing Family intrigues and surface-level "Harmony," even Sundays together dwindled.
Sunday earned his pastor ordination as Divo, lightening your load—though most discussions still revolved around Robin's future.
Her wings now shadowed half the galaxy.
Two years the public dubbed Robin's Ascension.
She achieved the impossible—her voice echoing across star systems.
Those tender eyes and smiles played on endless loops. Her songs spilled from every speaker.
Penacony's profits soared to mythic heights. The "Land of Dreams" became pilgrimage site for fans seeking traces of her.
Anming, the architect behind it all, earned Gopph's absolute trust.
Yet their first home grew colder.
Robin toured constantly. Anming slept in his office. Only Sunday returned regularly—his liturgical duties less consuming pre-Grand Prix.
Why did realizing their dreams mean growing apart?
Alone on the sofa, Sunday stared at the chandelier—seeing ghosts:
Anming stirring curry one-handed. Robin sneaking tastes behind his back.
"Brother, try this!"
The hallway light snapped on.
"No dinner yet?"
Anming lifted a takeout bag. "Instant noodles. Care for a drink?"
"Where's Robin?"
"Miss us that much?" Anming smirked. "Shoot in Andromeda. She's well-protected."
Sunday accepted the bag, chuckling at its contents. "How the mighty have fallen."
"Orphanage delicacy," Anming recalled.
Memories surfaced: three children passing a single bowl under moonlight.