Epilogue

明日は明日の風が吹 (Ashita wa ashita no kaze ga fuku)

Tomorrow's wind will blow tomorrow.

***

William

The air is thick with the hum of anticipation as I step off the stage in Tokyo. The crowd's energy lingers in the room, but for me, it's the quiet moments afterward that feel most significant. The echo of the music fades, the lights dim, and everything goes still. I catch Jules in the back, her face lit up by the glow of her phone, probably making sure everything is running smoothly, as usual. She's got that vibe—always in control, always knowing exactly what needs to happen.

It's been two years since the day I finally let myself believe in us. Now, we're here—touring Asia, my second album surpassing every expectation. We've crossed borders, taken risks, built something bigger than we ever imagined. But the real win? A portion of this tour's earnings is going toward scholarships, funding degrees for students across different schools and programs. Jules and I talked about this from the start—giving back in a way that actually matters.

Music changed my life, but education? That can change someone else's.

The guys called me crazy for this, but I don't care. Any top artist who wants to collaborate with me has to donate a portion of the song's earnings to a nonprofit or a cause that actually does some good. Not everyone loves it—some grumble, some back out—but that's the point. It weeds out the ones chasing a quick profit and leaves me with artists who actually give a damn. And yeah, that means I don't do a lot of collabs, but that's fine. It just gives me more time to focus on my own music, my own projects—the things that matter to me.

The ones who choose to work with me are the ones who respect what I stand for. And for that, they have my respect in return.

As for the album itself? I meant it when I said my solo career was just the cherry on top. Everything I needed, everything I wanted, I got from my time with Kill John. They were my dream, my family, the foundation of everything I've built. This—sold-out shows, critical acclaim, personal success—it's a gift I never expected, but appreciate every damn day. And because of that, I'm not pocketing all the profits.

There's only so much money a guy can spend in a lifetime. So instead, I'm putting it to good use—funding nonprofits I believe in, backing efforts that drive real change.

But that's not where it stops. If I've learned anything, it's that the people behind the scenes, the ones who make all of this possible, deserve just as much as the ones in the spotlight. So, yeah, I make sure my team—my crew, my band, every single person working their ass off—is paid well. Not just fairly, but well.

Because none of this happens without them, and I'm not about to build something that only benefits me. If my music is going to reach this far, it needs to do more than just exist. It needs to mean something.

The guys make guest appearances on my tour every now and then, when they've got the time. Killian, Jax, and Rye are all living their lives, taking things slower, but we've still got each other's backs. Even Scottie is still here when it matters most.

After the whole thing with Vaughn, I made a point to catch up with him. It wasn't easy—Scottie's not exactly the emotionally available type—but it was overdue.

I found him in his office, typing away on his laptop. The light from the screen made the sharp lines of his face look even sharper. He didn't glance up when I walked in, just motioned toward the chair across from him.

But before I could sit, a smaller figure at the far end of the room caught my eye.

Felix—Scottie's kid—was perched at a little desk of his own, hunched over a workbook with a pencil clutched in his tiny hand. His tongue peeked out in concentration, his brows furrowed like whatever math problem he was tackling had personally offended him.

"Hey, kid," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

Felix's head shot up, his face lighting up the second he saw me. "Uncle Whip!" he said, grinning wide. He dropped his pencil immediately, completely abandoning his work like any reasonable child would when faced with a much cooler distraction. "You're back!"

Scottie sighed, still not looking up. "You were supposed to finish that page before getting distracted."

Felix waved him off. "It's just Uncle Whip."

I smirked, stepping further into the office. "Yeah, Scottie, it's just me."

Felix giggled, clearly entertained by whatever trouble he thought I was about to cause. Scottie exhaled through his nose, closing his laptop with a decisive click. "Felix, finish up in the other room."

Felix groaned but grabbed his workbook anyway, dragging his feet toward the door. As he passed me, he tilted his head up. "You'll still be here when I'm done, right?"

I ruffled his hair. "Yeah, kid. I'm not going anywhere."

Satisfied, he trotted out, and as soon as the door shut behind him, the air in the room shifted.

I moved to the chair across from Scottie, rubbing my hands against my jeans, bracing myself. "Hey... I owe you an apology."

Scottie's gaze flickered, his brow lifting slightly. "For what, exactly?"

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "For coming at you," I said. "When everything with Vaughn was going down, I was... shit... I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight. Jules was in the middle of it, and I just—" I shook my head. "I'm sorry."

Scottie leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "You were a bloody pain in my ass," he said, his voice sharp, but not cruel. "But, to be fair, I understood why you were acting like a lunatic."

I blinked, surprised. "You did?"

He gave a short nod, his expression softening slightly. "If Sophie had been in danger, I'd have done the same. I'd have burned the whole world down if it meant keeping her safe."

That hit me hard, but before I could respond, he added, almost grudgingly, "Though I'll admit, for a moment there... you caught me off guard."

I sat back, startled. "I what?"

Scottie sighed, clearly not thrilled about the admission. "Don't make me repeat myself." He waved a hand at me, like swatting at a fly. "You were pissed, Whip. Like... unhinged pissed. And when someone like you—who's usually all smiles and stupid jokes—comes at you like that?" He shrugged. "It catches you off guard."

A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. "I scared you? Man, that's the highlight of my year."

Scottie shot me a flat look, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I didn't say 'scared'. Don't let it go to your head."

I grinned. "Too late."

He sighed again, but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Look, bygones. You were protecting her. I get it. If I were in your position, I'd have probably done worse."

There was a pause, the kind where neither of us needed to say anything else.

Finally, Scottie leaned forward, his tone turning quiet. "For what it's worth, Jules is lucky to have you. Just... don't screw it up."

I nodded, the weight of his words settling over me. "I won't."

And for once, I think he believed me.

Months later, I wrote and demoed a track for Libby. It's got this raw edge, like the weight of an unspoken heartbreak wrapped in explosive guitar riffs and a driving beat that punches you in the chest. It's rock, but haunting, with this kind of intensity that grips you by the soul. It reminds me of a feeling—one that sticks with you long after the first listen. The kind of song that takes you to a place you didn't expect, like a soft, aching melody that builds until it shatters and leaves you breathless.

When the last note had faded, Libby had pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide. "I can't take this," she had said, almost breathless. "This song is amazing."

I had huffed out a laugh. "Sure you can."

She had shaken her head, pacing a little before spinning back to face me. "No, I mean—Whip, I don't think I can do it justice. This is—" She had gestured toward the speakers in her studio like the music was something alive, something she couldn't quite grasp. "It's too much. It deserves someone who can carry all that weight."

I had pushed off the console, stepping toward her. "You will." I had held her gaze, steady and sure. "And I can help you."

Libby had chewed her lip, doubtful. "You really think so?"

I had grinned. "I know so."

When it hit, it hit hard. She took it to new heights, and now, she's walking away with a Grammy, just like the duet I made for her and Killian a few years ago.

Hell, even my work with the soundtracks has been recognized, not just by the west, but by the world. Two songs of mine used in beautifully crafted animated movies, both of them Academy winners for Best Original Song.

Since then, I've been on a roll, diving headfirst into a project that feels like the culmination of everything I've ever wanted to create. I've been invited to compose for a new anime film here in Japan—something as breathtaking as anything I've ever done. Every note is a piece of me, everything I want to express woven into the music. It's ethereal, like a dream that lingers long after you wake. Grand orchestras, haunting vocals—the kind of melodies that tear you apart and put you back together in the same breath.

And I'll be doing it all in Japanese.

Over the years, my comprehension and fluency in both Japanese and Korean have grown, opening up a whole new world of expression. Learning these languages wasn't just about communication—it was about connection, about understanding the emotions behind every phrase, every lyric. It's changed the way I write, the way I sing.

In the near future, I have plans to release my own songs entirely in Korean and Japanese, with the help of the friends who first introduced me to their culture. There's something incredible about singing in another language—the way the words take on a different texture, how they carry emotions in ways English never could. It feels like stepping into a new frontier, one where I can connect even more deeply with the audiences who have given me so much love.

And as I step into this new chapter, I'm learning—constantly, endlessly. Some of the musicians I'm working with have been teaching me the fundamentals of traditional Japanese singing: how to shape my voice differently, how to carry emotion in a way that feels almost ancient, like a thread tying the past to the present. It's unlike anything I've done before.

Beyond that, they introduced me to taiko drumming—those massive drums that feel more like a force of nature than an instrument. And damn, it's been a revelation. The sheer power of it, the way rhythm isn't just about keeping time but about feeling it in your bones, letting it take you over until you're part of the beat itself. Every session strips me down and rebuilds me, like I'm uncovering a whole new side of music. A whole new side of me.

And yeah, I'm a good drummer. Always have been. But if I'm being honest? I'd been coasting. The way Kill John plays, it's not like I need to rip through solos or push my limits every night. But taiko cracked something open in me, made me restless in the best way. So I went back to my kit with a hunger I hadn't felt in years.

For months, I threw myself into metal drumming—where stamina, precision, and sheer power collide. This wasn't just about speed or force; it was about endurance, control, and pushing past every limit I thought I had. So I went straight for The Dance of Eternity by Dream Theater—a prog-metal monster with over 100 key changes, polyrhythms that bend your brain, and double bass work that burns out your legs before you're halfway through.

Rye had once looked over the sheet music and huffed out a laugh. "This song is insanity by definition."

"Perfect for me," I quipped.

He eyed me strangely. "You sure you've got the time to learn this?"

"What? Think I can't do it?"

Rye chuckled, shaking his head. "After everything that's gone down the past few years? I'm sure you can."

At first, the song wrecked me. My hands and feet weren't keeping up, and every session felt like slamming into a wall. But I kept at it, breaking it down, seeking guidance from legendary drummers, pushing through the fatigue, until one day, when I was at a session with Rye, Killian and Jax, it clicked.

Muscle memory took over, and suddenly, I wasn't just keeping up—I was owning it. When I hit that final measure, sticks hovering over the kit, lungs burning, it was like breathing fire. Like leveling up in real time. I felt unstoppable.

At the last strike of the drum, I threw my sticks in relief, catching my breath. There was nothing but the rumble of the final note fading into silence.

And then it hit me—I finally fucking did it. A wild rush of adrenaline surged through me, and I let out a victorious shout.

"FUCK YEAH!"

Rye let out a sharp whistle, Jax grinned like a proud bastard, and Killian clapped me on the back, shaking his head in disbelief. "Holy shit, man," he said, eyes bright with pride. "You really did it."

And, man. That rush? That moment of holy shit, I actually did it? It made me feel like a kid again—wide-eyed, breathless, remembering exactly why I fell in love with music in the first place.

Besides music, I am no stranger to strange gigs. I'm up to voice for a character in that super popular game, Ecliptica. I'll be voicing Laerie, a fairy. Yeah, a hot, sexy, seductive fairy. Jules and I didn't think they'd actually go for it when we pitched the idea. We thought we were just playing around, suggesting that our mission would completely flip the script on the name "Larry"—turning it from the dorkiest name imaginable into something that could stand next to "Aaron" or "Xavier" on the sexy scale. But, surprisingly, the game developers got a good laugh out of it. They loved it.

They even asked me to write a theme track for Laerie. Of course, I agreed. But only on the condition that they hire a separate voice actor for all the moaning and kissy noises. No way in hell I'm doing that—first off, my pride wouldn't allow it, and second, I'd never make it through without cracking up.

Naturally, when Killian, Jax, and Rye found out, they fucking lost it. Full-on, doubled-over cackling.

"You—" Killian wheezed. "You are gonna be a sexy fairy?"

"Seductive," I corrected, deadpan.

"Jesus Christ." Rye braced himself against the counter. "Whip, I know you got the charm, but a fairy? Seriously? There's only so much a man can do."

"Fuck off," I muttered.

Jax just shook his head. "Some poor bastard is gonna play this game and realize their dream fantasy character is you."

Rye snorted. "Please, just a 'Hello, traveler' in your smoothest voice."

"Eat shit, Ryland."

Killian smirked. "I still can't believe you came up with the idea. C'mon, Laerie?"

I puffed out an exhale but I couldn't help my smile. "I hate all of you."

"Aw, don't be mad, Laerie," Rye cooed, and I chucked a pillow at his face.

I've crossed boundaries with my music, reaching places I never thought I'd be—Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Singapore, animation, video games. These are places where Kill John never broke, but I did. My solo work has taken off, and in ways I didn't even think possible, my music is part of the air in places I thought were untouchable.

All that said, I'm not forgetting about Jules. She's unstoppable. She's reached a level of success that rivals Scottie's, managing multiple A-list acts, every single one of them hitting platinum status. Her name is just as big as the artists she represents. But what makes her Jules—what sets her apart—is that she's not just in it for the biggest names. She seeks out talent that the industry overlooks—artists from nothing, with no connections, no safety net, just raw talent that deserves to be heard.

It all started with the boy group I met at the opening red carpet of that Kill John tour. Right before I wasn't known for my solo songs yet. They had the talent, the drive, but the industry still made them fight for every inch of recognition. Jules saw it too, how hard they had to claw their way up, how much harder it was for them compared to others with built-in connections. And that stuck with her.

I remember the night she first brought it up. We were taking a break from our anime marathon and Jules was scrolling through her phone, reading about the latest drama in the industry.

"It's bullshit," she muttered.

I glanced over. "What is?"

She huffed. "How many more untapped artists are out there? Insanely talented, working their asses off, but stuck because they don't have the right connections? The industry keeps the same people at the top and makes everyone else fight for scraps."

I smirked. "So what are you going to do about it?"

She shot me a look. "I'm going to try my damn hardest to change the game."

And now, she is. Jules isn't just managing artists—she's giving them a real shot. She's like a mentor, carving out spaces for those who never would've had a shot otherwise. On top of it all, she's working on something even bigger—starting her own company, one that focuses entirely on lifting up low-income artists and pushing them straight to the top.

Together, we've made this whole thing work. Tackling Asia and more, breaking records in multiple places, building empires, making the world a slightly better place. There's no team quite like ours.

I think back to when I thought I might be holding her back. Back when I was afraid that my solo career would be too much, that she'd be better off being with someone less complicated, someone without all the baggage that came with me—Kill John, my past, my hesitations. But Jules never saw it that way. She never once hesitated. She believed in me before I believed in myself, fought for me when I didn't know how to fight for myself.

And now, looking at everything we've built, I get it. We were never just artist and manager. We were partners, always pushing each other forward. She helped me carve out my own space in the industry, and I supported her while she built something entirely her own. She's not just shaping careers—she's changing lives.

I used to think I was lucky to have her in my corner. But now, I know better. We're both lucky. We built this together, and we're only just getting started.

Tonight, after the show, we slip away from the chaos, just the two of us. Jules is in the dressing room, eyes sparkling with excitement as she relays the success of the night, but when I walk in, she stops mid-sentence and looks at me. And for a second, all of the world's noise fades. It's just us.

"Whip?" she asks, a teasing glint in her eyes.

I smile, walking over to where she's standing. "I've got a question for you."

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into that smirk I love. "This is gonna be one of those silly debate questions, isn't it?"

I chuckle, but the humor dies when I pull something out of my pocket. I kneel in front of her, taking her hand gently in mine. I've been thinking about this for a while, letting it settle in my chest until I couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Jules..." My voice comes out a little rougher than I intend. I look up at her, her eyes wide, waiting. "I've been in love with you for years, and I think I've spent enough time thinking about it. I'm done waiting."

I take out the ring from the box—one I had custom made, something with weight, with history. It's set with a platinum band, the center stone a deep sapphire, almost black in the right light, but with specks of silver that catch when the light hits it just right. It's understated, but it's elegant, fitting her perfectly. The kind of thing you don't see coming, but once it's on her finger, you know it's always belonged there.

I shift on my knees, trying to calm the nervous energy buzzing in my chest. It's funny how much I've done, how far I've come, and yet this... this feels like the biggest moment of my life. I don't need to overthink this anymore.

"I've danced around this for so long," I continue, taking a step closer to her. "And if I'm being honest, I think I was just afraid of messing it up. But I'm done being scared."

I take a deep breath. The weight of it in my hand feels real, and somehow, that's comforting. I step closer, holding it up between us. "I don't want to wait for the next perfect moment. Because, honestly, this... this is it. This is the perfect moment. So..."

I look into her glistening eyes.

"Jules... will you marry me?"

Her breath hitches. She looks at the ring, and then her gaze flicks up to me. Her lips quiver, and for a second, I think she's going to say something. Then, suddenly, she laughs.

A soft, shaky sound that comes out before she can stop it. It's not mocking, not at all. It's the kind of laugh that shakes her whole body, like she's finally releasing everything she's been holding in. The tears follow quickly, slipping down her cheeks.

I reach out instinctively, brushing them away with my thumb.

"I can't believe you're asking me this now," she says between breaths, her voice thick with emotion. "After everything, all this time... you're really asking me?"

I laugh, the tension in my chest easing, because now, it feels like everything is falling into place. "We've waited long enough, Jules. You really think I'm gonna wait any longer?"

She smiles through her tears, her eyes shining, and then she nods.

"Yes," she says, voice breaking slightly. "Yes, I'll marry you."

I slide the ring onto her finger, my hands shaking even though I'm trying to play it cool. But the second it's on, the world steadies. In that moment, I know—everything's right. Everything's been leading to this, to us. We may be in the middle of a tour, surrounded by chaos, but in this room, in this moment, it's just us.

***

The stadium was electric, the roar of the crowd like waves crashing against the shore. Lights flashed in dizzying patterns, illuminating the stage and the sea of faces—thousands of fans screaming his name, their voices blending into a chaotic harmony. Whip stood at the center of it his hand steady on the mic stand despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

He took a breath, letting the noise settle, just enough to let his voice cut through. When he spoke, his tone was low and calm, carrying the weight of his gratitude and excitement.

"Kore kara no kyoku wa 'Forthcoming' to iu no waifu desu. Douzo tanoshinde kudasai!"

The crowd erupted again, the Japanese words flowing smoothly from him. On the massive screens behind him, subtitles appeared: My next song is called 'Forthcoming.' Please enjoy.

The lights dimmed, leaving only a spotlight on Whip as he began to strum the opening chords. The melody was haunting yet hopeful, a reflection of his journey—the quiet moments of doubt and the soaring highs of triumph.

When he started singing, the audience immediately joined in. The lyrics fell like echoes against the night:

Shadows stretch where daylight fades,

Edges blur, nothing stays.

I'm a whisper in the fog,

A thread caught between the stars.

I chase horizons I can't name,

Feet on fire, heart untamed.

If I slip through cracks unseen,

Will the void rewrite my dream?

As the final chord lingered, the crowd held their breath, as if waiting for the silence to speak. And in that pause, something unspoken passed between Whip and the thousands watching—an understanding that the future was uncertain, but it was his to shape.

The lights flashed once more, and with a single step back from the mic, he gave them all the answer they needed. The future wasn't just coming; it was already here.

***