*Narrator: The moving truck has barely pulled away before the arguments begin. Cardboard boxes fill every room of the old Emerson house, and Lucy is already planning where everything belongs. Michael, however, can't stand the thought of spending his first night in Santa Carla unpacking. After everything he and his family left behind in Arizona, all he wants is to disappear for a while—to breathe, to think, to forget.

Michael grabs his motorcycle helmet and heads for the door.

Lucy: "Absolutely not. You're not riding off tonight. We just got here."

She reaches over, plucks the keys from his hand, and crosses her arms.

Lucy: "You can explore tomorrow. Tonight, you're helping unpack."

Michael: Lets out a frustrated sigh. "Fine then... I'll walk."

Before Lucy can protest, Michael is already out the front door, dressed in his faded blue jean vest over a plain white T-shirt, worn jeans, and boots. The cool ocean breeze greets him as he follows the distant glow of carnival lights toward the Santa Carla boardwalk.

The boardwalk is alive with music, laughter, flashing neon, and crowds of tourists. Street performers line the walkways while the scent of popcorn and saltwater fills the air. It's unlike anything Michael has ever seen.

As he wanders through the crowd, a young woman with striking blonde hair steps into his path.

Star: Smiling softly. "You know... you'd look good with your ear pierced."

Michael: Chuckles. "You offering?"

Star: "Maybe."

She twirls a small silver stud between her fingers before slipping it back into her pocket.

Star: "Find me after the show, handsome... we'll poke a hole in your ear then."

Michael: "Show? What sho—"

Before he can finish the question, she's gone, swallowed by the crowd as though she'd never been there.

Curious, Michael follows the sound of electric guitars and pounding drums until he reaches the largest stage on the boardwalk.

Thousands of people crowd around it.

Onstage, a rock band commands every eye in the audience.

Paul pounds away behind the drum kit with boundless energy. Marko's guitar screams through the speakers as he moves effortlessly across the stage. Dwayne anchors the music with a steady bassline, barely moving yet impossible to ignore. Star stands beside the lead singer, her voice blending seamlessly into the music.

Then Michael sees him.

David.

Leather-clad, confident, and magnetic, he owns the stage without even trying. Every movement feels deliberate, every lyric delivered with effortless charisma. The crowd hangs on his every word.

As the song reaches its chorus, David's gaze sweeps across the audience...

...and stops on Michael.

For a heartbeat, the noise disappears.

Neither of them looks away. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of David's mouth before he turns back to the microphone, but Michael can't shake the feeling that somehow... the singer wasn't just looking into the crowd. He was looking for him.