A Father's Ultimatum

Lyric had always known this day would come. It was less a looming storm cloud and more a perfectly manicured, diamond-encrusted anvil hanging precariously over his head. His father, Adrian Blackwell, the man whose vocal cords had once shredded stadiums and whose hair had defied gravity with the sheer power of Aqua Net, was not a man who embraced change. He embraced volume. He embraced leather. He embraced the glorious, unadulterated sound of 80s glam metal. And he certainly didn't embrace Talia Vela.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Adrian’s voice, still a gravelly rumble that could curdle milk, echoed through the cavernous, dimly lit den of their sprawling mansion. The room was a shrine to Adrian’s past glories: platinum records glinting on the walls, a glass case displaying a sequined jumpsuit that probably cost more than Lyric’s college tuition (which he’d never attend, naturally), and the general air of a bygone era clinging to the velvet upholstery like cheap cologne.

Lyric stood his ground, though his stomach churned with the familiar mix of defiance and a deeply buried desire for his father’s approval. “Serious about what, Dad? About playing music I actually *like*?”