“I’m telling you, junior…” Henry Clark, just as he’d rehearsed in his mind, was so exasperated he laughed. “You really went to a lot of trouble, huh.”

Edith Parker was someone whose emotions were hard to stir, but when he heard the word “junior,” the corner of his eye twitched involuntarily. Even though this “junior” wasn’t that “junior.”

In Henry Clark’s eyes, they were strangers who’d only known each other for less than a week, and now there was just one more label: [university alumni].

His gaze first landed on the mole on Henry Clark’s cheek, then dropped a bit lower, staring at the tattoo on his Adam’s apple.

“I need you.” He was very direct.

Henry Clark was stunned for a second.

But soon, as if he’d heard a joke, he burst out laughing.

He remembered now—Edith Parker had said this the very first time they met.

He’d said his band needed a lead singer who could play guitar.

Need. A word that only made him want to run away even more.

“So sincere.”

Henry Clark’s smiling eyes gradually flattened. “But what’s it got to do with me?”

Obviously, Edith Parker wasn’t affected emotionally by him. In fact, he didn’t seem to have emotions at all. He just paused, then continued with what he wanted to say.

“There’s a band competition coming up, Crazy band. We want to sign up, but we’re still missing a guitarist.”

He stuffed the flyer into Henry Clark’s hand, just as William Harris came running over, stopping about four or five meters away from them.

So he pointed at William Harris and introduced, “He’s the drummer, I’m the bassist. The rehearsal room is nearby. I know you’re not interested right now, but you could at least come watch a rehearsal, if you’re not in a hurry.”

Henry Clark glanced at the flyer, then at the drummer with the white-dyed hair, and finally back at Edith Parker, almost laughing out loud.

This guy was really odd. Call him stubborn, but he was actually pretty sharp—he’d figured him out completely. But if you called him slick, his persuasion skills were terrible; he couldn’t even talk someone into joining.

And he realized, even after seeing him three times, his impression of this face was still blurry. Was it because the guy always wore a hat, covering his brows and eyes? It forced him to just stare at his lips when he talked. The shape of his lips was actually pretty nice—would look good with a lip ring.

Wait, that’s off topic.

Henry Clark shook off those strange thoughts and got back to the point.

“I’m really not in a hurry, but sorry, I’m trash. I’m not interested in drummers, bassists, or bands.”

He crumpled the flyer into a ball, half-shouldered past Edith Parker, his tone lazy: “Even trash has the right to just stay in the trash can and not be recycled.”

Henry Clark only left them his back.

“Why bother with a band? Just focus on your studies, freshman.”

William Harris really thought it was hopeless.

Years ago, Henry Clark’s negative reputation had become as well-known as his music—neurotic, stubborn, narcissistic, moody, oppressive to bandmates, extremely uncooperative. He was like a hurricane, appearing out of nowhere, sweeping through everything, then vanishing without a trace in an instant, leaving only chaos behind.

No one knew why he disappeared, not even Edith Parker.

He’d come to this university looking for Henry Clark, but all he got was news that he’d taken a leave of absence.

When he saw that band again, they’d already replaced both the lead singer and guitarist, continuing on like many bands do after lineup changes. But no one could erase the traces of Henry Clark’s existence—the heights he’d brought them to, the wreckage he left behind, his signature vocals and songwriting style, the fanatics who adored him and the haters who despised him… It was all like a branding iron burned to the limit, leaving an eternal mark.

Maybe Henry Clark’s very existence was dangerous, not fit to be squeezed into any team. To this day, there’s still a highly upvoted, but blood-soaked, comment under their debut single:

[Henry Clark brings his “halo curse” wherever he goes.]

William Harris had said long ago, there’s no way someone like that could be won over. What genius who once stunned the world would ever want to go back to square one and help out newbies—especially someone as reckless as Henry Clark. Even putting his name and that sentence together sounded like a joke.

But Edith Parker never listened.

“I mean, what’s with that guy! I…” Thinking of how persistent Edith Parker was about Henry Clark, William Harris swallowed his curse words. “Maybe we should just stop trying to recruit him!”

Edith Parker didn’t seem particularly defeated, just a bit confused in his eyes.

He stood there for a while, then turned to the security booth to retrieve his card wallet, not really responding to William Harris: “Let’s head back. Don’t we have an early class tomorrow?”

“Alright.” William Harris sighed. “It’s fine, it’s not like he’s the only option.”

But after saying that, he felt it was pointless—he was terrible at comforting people, and Edith Parker didn’t need comforting anyway, so he changed the subject: “Are you still working at 029 tonight? It’s so late, and there’s an exam tomorrow. You should at least review a bit.”

029 was a big party venue near Edith Parker’s school. The lady boss was from Xi’an, so she just named it after the area code.

“No need.” Edith Parker didn’t check the contents of his card wallet—he knew nothing would be missing—so he just tossed it in his bag. “I switched my shift to tomorrow afternoon. No classes after the exam.”