**Chapter 130: Amateur Band**

"Yo, yo, yo, Anson is here!"

"Anson! Anson! Anson!"

"The band is here, whoa, whoa, whoa, it's all happening, it's really happening!"

Cheers, shouts, and whistles filled the filming set with excitement. The scene was lively, reminiscent of when Julie Andrews arrives on set.

Anson didn't mind the commotion; he held his head high, waved, and struck a superstar pose, which made everyone burst into laughter.

Today was the day Anson and his friends, who had hastily formed a band, were making their debut. According to the schedule, Julie Andrews was supposed to arrive on set tomorrow, and the entire crew had been talking about it. But now, all the attention had shifted to Anson, making the atmosphere even more festive.

With just five days of practice, what could a group of amateur middle school students, who barely knew each other, possibly come up with in their band performance? Instead of expecting a great show, everyone was more interested in the fun of the spectacle, just looking for some entertainment.

Of course, not everyone felt this way. There were occasional whispers of jealousy, suggesting that Anson was hogging the spotlight by taking advantage of Gary's favor, not content with just acting but now adding a band performance to the mix—

They were waiting to see Anson mess up.

These voices weren't loud, just idle gossip, but they still created some discord.

This was a vanity fair; even a small film set could stir up trouble.

However, Anson had seen too many faces like these in his previous life. He wouldn't be shaken by these glances and criticisms. He firmly believed that jealousy was the excuse of the petty; the moment you give in to jealousy, you've already lost.

Anson's time was precious. He had band practice to finish and couldn't be bothered with baseless doubts and slander.

They weren't worth it.

Today was no different.

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

A real auto repair shop, a real garage.

From the moment the band was hastily put together, they had only five days. Now they were making their first appearance, and it was on the big screen. Even if no one really expected much from the band's performance, the nervousness was real.

Before the official filming began, they needed a quick rehearsal in the garage.

However.

It was a mess.

"Messy" didn't even begin to describe it; it was an absolute disaster.

The practice time was too short, and after spending five days cooped up in the practice room, suddenly being exposed to the public's critical gaze caused adrenaline to spike. Whether it was nerves or excitement, maintaining composure was impossible, and small mistakes became magnified.

So, "messy" turned into a "disaster."

"Phew."

Anson let out a small sigh and turned to look at his makeshift band members. Though they were just a ragtag group, they were personally chosen by Anson mainly because of their similar personalities—

For a middle school band, it wasn't about talent or fame. It was about a group of like-minded friends coming together out of pure love for music, carefully hiding their individuality and color within the melody. This setup suited Michael's character.

From the beginning, Anson hadn't expected the band's performance to be stunning or earth-shattering.

Looking at the band members, Anson wasn't surprised by their off-kilter performance. Nervousness and excitement aside, losing their sense of balance was also a factor.

Their youthful faces were full of energy, unable to hide their awkwardness, and they didn't even dare to look Anson in the eye, which made Anson's smile widen slightly.

"Hey, guys, do you remember what we said this morning when we left the practice room?"

All three faces turned to Anson, their eyes showing a hint of confusion.

It had only been thirty minutes since their morning conversation, but now their brains were too muddled to recall.

"Enjoy," Anson said.

"We agreed that this was just practice, not a performance. We're here to enjoy the music."

If Anson's memory serves him correctly, these three young people wouldn't make much of a name for themselves in Hollywood in the future. The harsh reality of this fame-driven world is that while there are glamorous top stars, most people remain obscure and eventually disappear. The truth is, it's a brutal industry.

However, this band performance isn't just an opportunity for Anson; it's an extra chance for these three as well.

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

"We've practiced the same song for five days now. I don't know about you, but I'm almost ready to throw up. I know it's hard to enjoy the melody at this point, but maybe we should just let our bodies go on autopilot?"

With a mix of teasing and humor, his nervous comment made everyone chuckle a little.

Then.

Ned Walken, the drummer with chubby cheeks like steamed buns and chubby arms like lotus roots, burst into carefree laughter. "If our songwriter says so, what should we do?"

"Complain together?" Anson responded casually.

Poof.

Immediately, both the guitarist and bassist broke into laughter as well.

Anson was serious, not modest at all. Writing and composing music were just hobbies for him; he had never studied them systematically. In his previous life, after the age of twenty-five, he had stopped playing music altogether, and only his interest in drawing had persisted—

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

As it happened, Gary had a sudden burst of inspiration, and they were all pushed to perform. They had briefly struggled between playing Oasis songs and Anson's own original work. Considering that the former required permission for copyrights and such, Anson chose the latter.

Simplicity, a bit of cheesiness, roughness—it was all okay.

After all, the director had said that a high school garage band's music didn't need to be too serious.

This would be the first time Anson's music had an audience, and that audience was the entire film crew. He wasn't entirely confident, perhaps even more nervous than he had been when facing the camera for the first time.

After all, when it comes to acting, if your skills aren't enough, at least there's always your looks.

But with music? If the melody and performance aren't good, can you still rely on your looks?

Anson, being completely honest, joked to ease his own nerves, "Don't worry about mistakes. Mistakes are normal because everyone is expecting us to make them—they know we've only had five days. But only we know what really happened during those five days."

In these simple words, a sense of carefree ease naturally emerged.

Anson felt like he had found his old self again, the person he had been before the age of twenty-five in his previous life.

Then Anson looked at the guitarist, Tom Tillman, the youngest at just fifteen, with a few stress pimples on his face. His nervousness was evident from his uncertain gaze.

"Look at me, Tom. I guarantee I'll mess up before you do."

Tom: ???

Looking at the others in confusion, Tom couldn't help but laugh too. "What did Anson just say?"

They exchanged glances.

And then, they couldn't hold back their laughter.

Anson didn't need anyone else to respond; he confirmed it himself, "You heard right. I'm pretty sure I'll be the first to make a mistake. But trust me, even if we mess up, no one will notice. After all, this song is making its debut today. So, I think we should just pretend nothing happened and keep playing."