When Cliff heard Allen's objective opinion, his expression shifted slightly. A flicker of struggle passed between his brows as he seemed to realize, perhaps for the first time, that he'd misjudged the situation and twisted Allen's original intent. But it was too late to backtrack now, leaving Cliff caught in a moment of hesitation, unsure of what to do or say. Just as he was trying to convince himself to stop overthinking and calm down, Allen's voice broke through again, stirring up Cliff's inner conflict once more.
"Recording a sound source is like making a cassette or CD back in the day—it gives you something tangible to show off your talent. It makes it easier for me to pitch you to record companies too. All I have to do is play the digital file. Things are so much simpler now than they used to be."
Allen said this with a smile.
"In the music world, I know a few people. We sometimes chat over afternoon tea, and they're always eager to spot young talent. If you've got the time, I could even set up a meeting for you—sit down and have a proper talk."
What?
What?!
The pace of this was so fast, so intense, it was hard to keep up. Minds raced but couldn't process it all, leaving heads spinning in a brief blank daze.
Cliff instinctively held his breath and glanced at Maxim, but Maxim didn't have an answer either. Instead, he looked toward Ronan. Cliff followed suit, his eyes silently asking: What exactly does Allen mean?
They'd completely forgotten that Ronan, just like them, was meeting Allen for the first time tonight. What they didn't understand, Ronan wouldn't either.
"Ronan, what's he talking about?"
Ollie's wide-eyed question slipped out, his shock and surprise impossible to hide. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he clamped it shut, his eyes nearly popping out—how had his thoughts just spilled out like that?
The sudden outburst shattered the room's delicate balance.
Every pair of eyes in the lounge snapped toward Ollie, making him the center of attention. Flustered, he straightened up, feet together, chest puffed out like a soldier, though his gaze drifted upward, dodging everyone's stares in a desperate bid to shift the focus.
"Haha!" Allen burst into cheerful laughter, completely unfazed. "What I mean is, I see potential in you guys. I'd love to play the role of your guide, connect you with the right people, and maybe bask in a little of your glow. Who knows? It could lead to some profit down the line or add a shiny badge to my resume. So, I'm jumping at the chance."
Then, with a playful shrug, Allen spread his hands. "Collecting badges and gold coins—it's a hobby us Jews share with dragons."
Honest and funny; sincere yet confident.
Allen had a knack for this. What could've been a tricky moment—admitting he was chasing profit—came off so naturally it didn't offend anyone. His witty charm effortlessly lightened the mood in the lounge, overshadowing his appearance and letting his personality shine through.
Even Ollie, who usually clammed up around strangers, cracked a grin. His booming, contagious laugh erupted, "Hahaha!"—a sound so loud it startled everyone, drawing their gazes back to him. Suddenly self-conscious again, Ollie tried to shrink into himself, stifling his laughter with effort. But that only made the others laugh harder, their eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity at his outburst.
"Allen…" Ronan finally spoke up. Alice was busy filming, so she wasn't in a position to jump in. She'd given Ronan a signal, and he stepped forward—though he wasn't sure what to say. The excitement and joy surging in his chest left his mind blank for a moment.
"Thank you," he managed at last, then repeated it. "Thank you."
It was a simple phrase, but Allen could hear the depth of emotion behind it. "No need. I haven't done anything yet—just talked. You're the ones who stood on that stage, creating something with your talent and gifts. You're the geniuses under the spotlight."
That reality sank in slowly, a bittersweet mix of emotions lingering on their tongues, hard to put into words.
Only now did they fully grasp Allen's intentions. He was an agent, driven by profit, sure—but he saw profit in One Day Kings. That meant he saw their value, their talent, their strength. He saw something worth chasing.
The band had earned his recognition.
Yes, it was about "profit first," but Allen's attitude didn't feel the least bit offensive. Quite the opposite—it stirred a rush of gratitude and excitement that pulsed through their chests.
Ronan glanced at his bandmates. Cliff hung his head, his expression hidden. Ollie turned away from the crowd. Maxim took deep breath after deep breath. They were all trying so hard to keep their emotions in check, but it wasn't easy—not even for Ronan.
His nose tingled slightly, but he forced a smile and turned to Allen and John. "Honestly… when John sent us that email, we were on the verge of calling it quits. Maybe a week, two at most, and we'd have been back in L.A., slipping into normal lives—drawing a line under it all, giving up on the music dream, treating it like it'd just been a fantasy."
Ronan knew he was veering off-topic. This wasn't what Allen wanted to hear, and it didn't connect to what Allen had said. But he needed to say it. These were the thoughts flooding his mind, spilling out naturally.
From the heart.
The man standing in front of them was just an agent—not some top-tier mogul or industry legend. But his validation meant the world to the band. After all the ups and downs, it was a genuine acknowledgment.
"We'd been at it for seven years, but we never… never got that affirmation. We started doubting ourselves, wondering if it was time to let go, time to walk away. Maybe this path wasn't for us. We couldn't even talk about it with each other—because once we did, it felt like the end was the only option. Like it was time to wrap things up."
"But…"
Ronan's gaze landed on John-Mark, who met him with a warm, uplifted smile. That gentle light in John's eyes tugged Ronan's own smile wider. "But John's email changed everything. It sparked a little hope."