The music finally reached its full crescendo—
The lead role was unmistakably the cello.
Miles' hair flew in the light as he passionately and wholeheartedly played the bow, the rhythm and lody flowing seamlessly and accelerating steadily.
Everyone else surrounded Miles, the brightness of the keyboard, the sharpness of the guitar, and the vibrations of the bass all intertwining. As the cello grew more intense and powerful, the other three mbers' performances ignited with passion, pushing the energy toward a peak, releasing every ounce of it without reservation.
This was the band's greatest strength—showcasing the charm of the instrunts by making them play a more central role in the performance.
Though the rhythm wasn't fast, Blair felt her blood boiling.
She could clearly hear her heart pounding against her chest, overwheld by a rush of emotions. The world around her seed to descend into a roar.
A smile quietly blood on her lips, yet her vision was already blurred by tears.
She felt like a madwoman, teetering on the edge of losing control, laughing and crying, brimming with a strange intensity.
But she didn't care. Not one bit.
Blair focused intently on the scene in front of her, letting herself lose control in the music.
At that mont, Blair saw it.
Anson swung his guitar behind him, picked up the drumsticks with both hands, and stood in front of the drums, exchanging a glance with his three bandmates—
Lily received the signal.
A sweeping motion across the keyboard sent a rush of sound from low to high, fluid and seamless, instantly pushing the music to a climax.
The drums ca in.
Boom, boom, boom.
The beats echoed like the sound from the other end of a valley, forcefully lifting the already soaring lody to a new level, unleashing a storm.
The explosion was complete.
The bass strings were furiously plucked.
The keyboard pounded like a relentless storm.
And the cello—
Unexpected yet fitting, the cello remained the true anchor.
Drawing from the legendary classic "Air on the G String" by Bach as its foundation, the bass, keyboard, and drums wove together in a dazzling, intricate pattern, capturing the brilliance and splendor of the lody.
Miles continued to play with elegance, but his bow struck the strings with wild passion, infusing each note with all the fervor and happiness, as if the energy of a burning soul poured down like a waterfall. The entire studio was engulfed in a roar.
All reason, all thoughts were crushed, shattered, and solidified, turning to ashes—
Nothing was left.
Even the tears montarily froze on her lashes, as she stood there, wide-eyed, in shock, rendered motionless by the overwhelming storm.
Language lost its color, action lost its aning, and her mind hit pause, leaving her standing there, a helpless boat tossed in the storm.
The band held nothing back.
Connor wasn't sure if this was the end—after the "Tonight Show," they would go their separate ways, with no follow-up, no future, and no next step.
This was their farewell performance.
Afterward, he would return to Kansas City, go back to the grocery store, and resu his daily life. This was the end, a final goodbye to his musical dreams.
Ah, farewell. The day had finally co, after so much struggle, so much effort, so many tis of giving up and picking up again. But in the end, he had to face the harsh and helpless reality. Perhaps he was never ant for music, never ant for performing, and maybe he should just bury his dreams deep inside.
That thought took root in his mind, quickly growing into a towering tree.
All those emotions, all that energy, poured out from his fingertips.
He didn't cry—why should he cry?
At least he had once shined, once chased, once run, and once fought. He had no regrets. Though he was sad, he had no regrets. He would leave everything behind here, proof that he too had once shone like a brilliant star.
"Connor, hold your head up high, stand tall, and enjoy this mont."
Everything—every note—poured out like a flood.
Roaring, surging, overwhelming—
The different textures of the instrunts collided and intertwined, and the cello's grandeur and magnificence were fully displayed at this mont.
It was a completely different kind of expression from "Wake Up," with power and passion surging and crashing down, making the entire world spin.
The world spun.
Dizzying and srizing.
The pounding of hearts against chests, the burning of blood and passion—an indescribable emotion roared and echoed in their minds.
Silently, they sat there, in awe.
So this is the power that instrunts can wield.
So this is what a band performance can be, far beyond just singing.
So there is a level of impact and purification even greater than "Wake Up."
And then—
In the midst of this roaring climax, Anson's voice rose again—
"Ah…"
No lyrics, just a shout, a cry from the depths of his soul.
"Ah! Ah, ah, ah!"
Higher and higher, he climbed, releasing all the energy hidden in the lody, octave by octave.
There were no lyrics, but the imagery was overwhelming.
"Run, Jack, run."
In the raging storm, amidst the collapsing world, a frail and tiny figure seed always on the verge of being devoured by darkness, crushed if he slowed even a little.
But he didn't give up.
He just kept running, running with all his might, burning his lungs, burning his life, pushing forward despite being battered and bruised, with no regard for anything else.
He clung desperately to a faint sliver of dawn, sprinting with all his strength.
Anson heard it—Connor's sorrow, Miles' stubbornness, Lily's longing; and he heard the boy's cry.
All of it was transford into his voice, fully unleashed.
"Ah! Ah, ah, ah!"
From past life to present, from boyhood to Connor, they had never surrendered—stubborn, foolish, innocent, and passionate, they had set their lives ablaze.
Running all the way.
"Run, Jack, don't stop, don't look back."
Blair noticed—
The glimr of tears in Anson's eyes.
Those deep blue eyes were like the vast ocean, holding storms, nights, and countless scars, so bright yet so resilient, shimring with tears. But he wasn't crying; on the contrary, he was smiling, the curve of his lips shining with determination and strength.
He was shouting, releasing, and roaring.
In that instant, Blair broke down completely.
She sat there, her world falling apart, slumping her shoulders, hugging herself, trembling uncontrollably, filled with both sorrow and profound emotion.
Because, at that mont, she saw a fragile yet strong soul, cautiously exposing his wounds, refusing to give up, refusing to surrender.
He would not back down.
Run, Anson, run!
Involuntarily, Blair began to run with Anson, shedding her armor, standing naked in the storm, arms outstretched, embracing the tempest. The trembling from deep within her soul made her smile bloom freely through her tears, like a madwoman.
The performance, after reaching a peak, finally began to slow, gradually returning to calm—
Miles, Connor, Lily, all of them were breathing heavily, as if they had poured their very souls into the music, leaving themselves empty. As their gazes intertwined, they all looked toward Anson.
The world fell into a dead silence.
Not a single noise remained.
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