Warm sunlight spilled down like scattered gold, and the moisture in the air felt refreshing. The summer breeze carried a gentle, carefree vibe.
Before they knew it, the crowd of post-party binge-eaters started to thin out. The noise around the hot dog stand quieted down, and the tension between the band members eased up too. Bathed in the golden glow, a hint of comfort even began to creep in.
Ronan could feel the stiff, awkward atmosphere softening, so he seized the moment. "What I mean is, Scooter isn't always a hundred percent right. His opinions and views are just based on what he knows—they don't cover everything."
"Sewing button skills?" Ollie chimed in, then cracked up at his own joke, chuckling to himself.
Ronan thought about it and couldn't help but laugh too. He leaned forward, slapping the table. "Picture Scooter with an embroidery needle, wearing reading glasses, sitting by a kerosene lamp… sewing buttons… haha!" His own punchline got him, and he burst into a squeaky laugh, like a rusty brake.
Maxim tried his hardest to hold it in, but his shoulders still shook slightly.
Cliff, sitting nearby, kept his usual deadpan, life-draining expression.
After the laughter died down, Ronan pulled himself together and continued. "But seriously, Scooter does have a sharp eye for the market. Maybe we don't need to follow his advice completely, but we can pick out the valuable bits to think about. Like when he said 'Born This Way' has market potential—what does that tell us?"
He paused for a second, glancing at Ollie and Maxim's faces. Scooter's take on this had genuinely hurt the two creative souls in One Day Kings, and it was still a tricky topic. Ronan knew he had to tread carefully.
Ollie didn't show much reaction. His thick skin seemed oblivious to the weight of the comment, carefree as ever—no need to worry about him.
Maxim's expression dimmed a little. He lowered his head, hiding his face in the shadows. It wasn't easy to read him, but you could still sense his struggle and bitterness.
Ronan spoke up to nudge him. "Think back to how we wrote 'Born This Way'—how we stayed up all night practicing it."
Maxim lifted his head, looking at Ronan with confusion. He already had the answer deep down, but Scooter's words had shaken his confidence. He couldn't voice his thoughts as boldly as before. Then he caught Ronan's bright, encouraging gaze.
"…We didn't have any distractions. We were totally lost in the music. Those melodies, those lyrics—they all came straight from our hearts," Maxim said hesitantly.
Ronan nodded gently, flashing a smile to affirm him. "Exactly. That shows we shouldn't be worrying about how to cater to the market. That's not our strength—we don't know the first thing about it. But we do know how to make music."
He tapped his chest lightly, right over his heart. "The music that flows from here, the melodies and lyrics that come from deep in our souls—that's where our emotions live, where our personality shines. That's what's got real edges and color."
Ronan saw things differently from the rest of the band. His perspective wasn't just that of an outsider—it came from a simple, burning desire: the happiness of standing on stage and performing.
Compared to his past life, what he had now was already more than enough. And there was still so much more to explore ahead. He firmly believed life was beautiful, and he could feel the passion in One Day Kings' soul from the bottom of his heart.
That's why Ronan stayed clear-headed, even after the double blow from Trastan and Scooter. He never lost his way.
He paused again, then shifted gears. "Actually, the night Trastan left, I saw him."
All eyes snapped to Ronan in an instant. Shock, disbelief, surprise, and panic crashed together like a tidal wave.
Ronan knew he had to say it. "I tried to stop him, tried to call him out, but he didn't give me a chance. I said something similar to Scooter too—that he couldn't see any market value in us. I didn't argue back—no, I couldn't argue back. I just stood there like an idiot, watching him walk away without a single word to counter him."
Ollie's memory clicked into place.
That night, Ronan had come back like a zombie, his eyes unfocused and empty. He'd curled up in his blanket, silent. Even when Ollie asked what was wrong, he got no answer. Later that night, Ronan spiked a fever.
So that was the night.
Ollie wanted to comfort him but didn't know what to say. He just looked at Ronan with worry, his nose stinging.
"…Ronan, it's not your fault," Maxim said right away, offering comfort. But he couldn't find more words. Now it all made sense—first Trastan, then Scooter. Ronan had taken two direct hits.
Cliff's gaze darkened too. He finally understood why Ronan had started to change.
"I'm fine," Ronan said, smiling at Maxim. "I just think maybe we've been too desperate. We forgot why we started in the first place. Day after day, year after year, we couldn't see a way forward, so we got lost and started to change."
"Maybe we can switch up our creative direction and style—get back to ourselves. Forget Trastan, forget Scooter, and just make the music we love, the stuff that comes from our hearts."
Then Ronan's gaze landed firmly on Ollie and Maxim. "You two have real creative talent. Don't let Scooter make you forget the praise and recognition we've gotten from Flash Band and others. You've got your own skills—just not sewing buttons."
Maxim cracked a smile at that.
"And Cliff, you too. We can all give it a shot together, really try to get back to our roots and make music we love. Maybe then we'll see a whole new world." Ronan meant every word. "I think this could be a fresh start."