From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“Yo, yo, yo, Anson's here!”

“Anson! Anson! Anson!”

“The band is here, ho ho ho, this is really happening, really happening!”

Cheers, jeers, and whistles filled the set, the scene as lively as if Julie Andrews had arrived.

Anson didn't mind, raising his head, puffing out his chest, and waving, striking a superstar pose that instantly erupted the set into laughter.

Today was the day Anson and his buddies' makeshift band would debut; in fact, according to the schedule, Julie Andrews was arriving on set tomorrow. Originally, the entire crew was discussing this, but now their attention had been completely stolen by Anson, making for a lively scene.

With only five days of practice, what kind of band performance could a group of unfamiliar amateur middle school students put on? Rather than anticipating the performance, they were just looking for fun and excitement.

Of course, not everyone felt that way. Rumors occasionally surfaced with jealous voices, claiming that Anson was relying on Gary's appreciation to secretly steal the spotlight. Character performances weren't enough; now he had to add a band performance—

Anson's time was precious; he still had band practice to complete and really didn't have time to deal with those unfounded suspicions and slanders.

They weren't worth it.

Today was the same.

Early in the morning, Anson arrived at the filming set—

A real auto repair shop, a real garage.

From the moment the band was temporarily put together, it had only been five days. Now, they were about to make their debut, and on the big screen. Even if no one truly anticipated the band's performance, the tension was undeniable.

Before the official filming began, they needed to rehearse briefly in the garage.

However.

It was a complete mess.

“Terrible” was not enough to describe it; it was a complete disaster.

The practice time was too short, and the five days had been spent in closed practice in the rehearsal room. Suddenly exposed to everyone, the scrutinizing gazes instantly caused a surge of adrenaline. Whether it was nervousness or excitement, their composure was lost, and the small mistakes and flaws were magnified.

Thus, “terrible” evolved into “disaster.”

“Huff.”

Anson gently exhaled and turned to look at his temporary band members. Although they were just a ragtag group, Anson had personally chosen them, mainly because their personalities were similar—

For a middle school band, more than talent or fame, several like-minded friends gathered together purely out of love for music, carefully hiding their personalities and colors in the melody. This setting was consistent with Michael's character.

From the beginning, Anson hadn't expected the band's performance to be amazing or sensational.

Looking at the band members, Anson wasn't surprised by their abnormal performance. In addition to nervousness and excitement, losing their composure due to worrying about success or failure was also a reason.

Those youthful faces radiated youthful energy, unable to control their restraint, even afraid to look Anson in the eye, which made the smile on Anson's lips lift slightly.

“Hey, guys, remember what we said this morning when we left the rehearsal room?”

The three faces all looked at Anson, their eyes showing a hint of confusion.

Clearly, the conversation that morning had only happened thirty minutes ago, but now their brains were like mush, unable to recall the memory.

“Enjoy.” Anson said.

“We agreed that this is practice, not a performance, just enjoying the music.”

If Anson's memory served him correctly, these three young people wouldn't make a name for themselves in Hollywood in the future. This fame game, with its top superstars and countless ordinary people disappearing without a trace, was just that cruel.

However, the band performance was not only an opportunity for Anson but also an extra opportunity for the three of them.

“The most professional and focused attitude is always the coolest and most perfect attitude. Instead of worrying about the performance, let's enjoy the music.”

“We've practiced the same song over and over for five days. I don't know how you guys feel, but I'm about to throw up. I know it's not easy to enjoy the melody, but how about we surrender our bodies to inertia?”

The teasing and joking in his tense speech couldn't help but make people smile.

Then.

Ned-Walken, the chubby-cheeked, lotus-root-armed drummer, laughed heartlessly, “You, the songwriter, have said so. What can we do?”

“Complain together?” Anson was very candid.

Pfft.

Instantly, the guitarist and bassist both broke down and laughed.

Anson was serious, definitely not being modest. Songwriting was just a hobby for him, and he hadn't studied it systematically. Moreover, after the age of twenty-five in his previous life, he had never played music again. Of his non-essential interests, only painting had continued—

Because it didn't cost money. He could even draw on waste newspapers or even on the sand.

And now, with Gary's sudden inspiration, they were all being forced into it. After struggling slightly between playing Oasis songs and their own originals, Anson chose the latter, considering that the former would require inquiring about copyrights and such.

Simpler, more cliché, and rougher was fine too.

Anyway, the director said that the music of a middle school garage band didn't need to be taken too seriously.

This was the first time Anson's music had an audience, and right from the start, it was the entire crew. He himself wasn't sure and was even more nervous than when he first stood in front of the camera.

After all, when it came to acting, if your skills weren't good, you still had your looks.

But what about music? If the melody and performance weren't good, would you still rely on your looks?

Anson was very candid, using jokes to dispel his tension, “Don't worry about mistakes. Mistakes are normal because they all expect us to make mistakes. After all, it's only been five days, but only we know what happened in those five days.”

A hint of nonchalance naturally flowed from his ordinary words.

Anson felt like he had found his pre-twenty-five-year-old self again.

Then, Anson looked at the guitarist, Tom-Tillman, who was the youngest, only fifteen years old, with a few nervous pimples popping out on his face. You could feel his tension from his unsteady gaze.

“Look at me, Tom. I can guarantee that I'll mess up before you do.”

Tom: ???

Looking at the others with a confused expression, Tom couldn't help but laugh, “What did Anson just say?”

They looked at each other.

Then, they couldn't help but chuckle.

Without waiting for anyone else to speak, Anson confirmed, “You didn't hear wrong. I think I'll definitely be the first to mess up, but please believe me, even if I mess up, no one will be able to tell because this song is being released for the first time. So, I think we should pretend nothing happened and continue playing.”

First update.