Teen Idol

Abigail was a member of the school swim team, her body solid in a way that lean Taylor couldn't match, which also meant Ryan didn't have to tread carefully.

After a while, Ryan let out a long breath, and his entire being slipped into a clear, thoughtless state—the so-called Sage State.

Abigail collapsed beside him, looking even more exhausted than Ryan.

Clearly, the heated combat between athletes wasn't something ordinary people could compare to.

Abigail grabbed Ryan's water cup from the nightstand, took a big gulp, then pulled him up to go shower.

Coming out of the bathroom, Abigail was practically glued to Ryan.

"You really haven't done it with Taylor?" Abigail was still hung up on that question.

Ryan shook his head.

"Hmph." Abigail gave a cold laugh, probably not believing him.

"She's definitely into you. On the way to Miami, she was asking about us and badmouthing you a lot." Abigail tattled.

"What did she say?"

"That you used to be a model, had a messy private life, and often provided services to middle-aged women!" Abigail said.

"Also, back in the stadium audience, the moment I said I wanted her to set us up, she panicked immediately. She can't hide those little moves from me." Abigail said with certainty.

"So what? I'm not the only one she's interested in." Ryan said with clear self-awareness.

For a teenager, the world might be black and white—only two states for a person: like or dislike.

But for an adult, like or dislike is just one factor, not even an important one.

Taylor was, on one hand, a passionate woman, and on the other, a refined egoist. She knew exactly what she needed most, and when a man couldn't give her what she wanted, she'd pull away quickly. She was also good at disguising herself as the "object," the one always passively enduring—that was why she could write those songs with such "genuine emotion."

If you interviewed the guys in those songs, you'd probably get a completely different version.

"You're not wrong. She has had a lot of relationships, and objectively, part of it is because she's too outstanding. You know, guys see dating her as an honor, something to brag about over and over."

"So she should be more cautious."

"Why be cautious? Everyone knows the deal anyway—they never planned to be together long, just dating." Abigail blurted out, then realized she'd said the wrong thing and gave an awkward laugh.

"But that doesn't include me! Anyway, don't mention her in front of me from now on!" Abigail pinched the skin on Ryan's arm as a warning.

"Not afraid she'll get jealous?" Ryan ran his fingers through Abigail's damp hair.

"I gave her a chance to admit it, but she probably doesn't think much of you, so this time let her taste some jealousy too." Abigail bit the edge of Ryan's palm.

Then she turned her head away, and after a long silence, her voice came out: "Why do all the men have to revolve around her?"

Her tone carried a hint of resentment.

Ryan and Abigail had breakfast before returning to Taylor's room. Inside, there was a strange smell of vomit—Taylor had apparently thrown up again last night.

Abigail walked to the bed and pulled back the covers. From behind her, Ryan could vaguely see Taylor's clothes in disarray. Abigail quickly shifted a step to block his view, determined not to let him get any advantage.

Women's friendships... Ryan curled the corner of his mouth.

Just then, Taylor slowly woke up, her complexion looking fairly normal. She immediately pressed a hand to her forehead.

"I feel like I'm splitting in half! Why did I drink that stuff?" Taylor's mouth drooped, her face crumpling.

"Good thing we were both here with you this time, or who knows who might have picked you up." Abigail sat on the edge of the bed, her expression full of concern.

Taylor looked up then, first at Abigail, then at Ryan behind her.

"I remember you two left the room together last night." Taylor said quietly.

"What, was I supposed to leave him alone in the same room with you?" Abigail shot back with a smile.

"Fair point." Taylor nodded, finding no logical flaw.

For the rest of the day, Abigail took care of Taylor, only sneaking into Ryan's room at night...

The next day, the three took a sightseeing bus to Punta Gorda on the other side of the Florida Peninsula. Compared to the bustling international metropolis on the west coast, the east coast was relatively quieter and less chaotic. The small town of Punta Gorda bordered the Bay of Panama. Besides fishing, tourism was a major pillar, and the "Hillbilly Mud Park" there attracted plenty of visitors every year.

Getting off the sightseeing bus, they transferred to a pre-booked park shuttle, passing through natural wetland scenery along the way.

"The air quality is way better than Miami." Taylor applied sunscreen to her neck.

"It really is." Abigail took a deep breath too. Today she wore a very short T-shirt, revealing her abdominal muscles, paired with hot pants—she was even spicier than Taylor.

As she spoke, she glanced back at Ryan intentionally, not for the first time today, throwing him a wink right under Taylor's nose.

Sitting in the row behind them, Ryan couldn't help but ask a question that had been bothering him all day.

"Why is the online discussion about you so much higher than other country singers?" Ryan asked.

"Jealous?" Taylor looked smug. "The reason is simple: most of my fans are teenage girls, Gen Z, so naturally they're more active online."

Regular working-class people couldn't afford to obsess over celebrity gossip all day and interact online at high frequency.

"I've already seen people online calling themselves Swifties." Abigail chimed in.

It clicked for Ryan. Country music's audience was mostly middle-aged. From that angle, Taylor wasn't so much a country singer as a teen idol singing country ballads.

But not just anyone can become a Teen Idol—first, the songs you put out have to resonate with what teenagers are feeling inside.

Ryan was at a disadvantage there. His songs were only for party animals, right? He faced that harsh truth.

Just then, Taylor turned around, and the giant bug-eye sunglasses on her face reflected Ryan's image.

"You're not thinking of going that route, are you? Your looks would fit, but your songs have the wrong vibe." Taylor chuckled.

"A few years back, those boy bands like Super Boy and the Backstreet Boys had tons of crazy female fans, but they're outdated now." Abigail chimed in.

Stratford, Ontario, Canada.

In a cramped apartment, a boy was cooking alone in the kitchen. Because of his height, he had to stand on a stool to reach the stove. What he called "cooking" was just reheating some discounted supermarket hamburger patties and semi-prepared vegetables—leftovers from yesterday.

Behind him, the radio was playing Chris Brown's R&B single from last year, With You. The boy hummed along in his childish voice as he heated the food, his body swaying slightly to the rhythm.

"With you, Girl, With you, With you, With you..." His voice had the clear, bright quality of a child's, effortlessly handling the R&B runs—showing off his singing talent at such a young age.

Bang! The crisp sound of the wooden door opening and closing.

The boy set down the chipped metal spatula and ran to the door.

"Mom! You're off work? Or... fired again?" The boy's surprise quickly turned to fear as he realized something.

A woman with a messy center-parted black ponytail tossed a few letters and overdue utility bills onto the table, then bent down to touch the boy's forehead.

"Mom just took the day off. Remember that Mr. Bryan I told you about last time, the executive from that American record company? He's almost here—he wants to meet us now!"

"Whoa!" The boy jumped up in excitement.

His mother led him to the bathroom, combed his hair, and dressed him in the new clothes he only wore on Christmas. Then the two took a bus to the train station.

By the time they got there, Mr. Bryan was already waiting for them at a nearby restaurant.

This "record company executive" looked so young that the boy's mother wondered if he'd even graduated college.

"I live in Atlanta now, and I'm currently an entertainment consultant for the Atlanta Hawks. I also started my own record label, partnering with Universal Music—the biggest music group in the world. I can get Jermaine Dupri to produce your son's album. You know him? Janet Jackson's longtime boyfriend, and he produced Mariah Carey's last album—a real big shot! And Puff Daddy? You've heard of him, right?" The young man, calling himself Scooter Bryan, claimed close ties with many major names.

The boy looked up at his mother. From her expression, she seemed impressed.

"Like I said before, I can take your son back with me and give him the best resources. But things have gotten a bit complicated, so I need to add some new conditions." Scooter gave the boy's mother a meaningful glance.

"What do you want?" The mother immediately clutched her collar, looking nervous.

"What I mean is, your son is too young. To avoid certain legal issues, I have to become his legal guardian until he's an adult!" Scooter said slowly.