Alarieka’s brow twitched as she studied Rose.

Rose smiled faintly, tears glistening. “Alarieka… so you knew her too?”

Alarieka countered, “Too?”

Rose dabbed her eyes, chuckling lightly. “Lindsey and I met years ago. Does she still love that lemon tea from Plaza One?”

“Lindsey had few joys–that lemon tea was one. That closed fried chicken shop another. Always pestering me to try it with her.”

Alarieka pressed her lips shut. Suspicion prickled her mind. Lindsey did obsess over Plaza One’s lemon tea–had begged her to fetch it countless times, never tiring of it.

And that chicken shop Lindsey adored really had shut down. How could Rose know this?

Rose gazed at her with amused tolerance, like humoring a clueless junior. “When did you meet Lindsey? She never mentioned you.”

Alarieka stayed silent. The baffled audience strained to hear Rose’s unamplified voice, clinging to every hushed word.

Roschelle Whitaker continued: “You wouldn’t know this, but Lindsey and I met seven years ago. Back then, we were just online friends who connected through piano. We shared the same dreams and clicked instantly, confiding everything in each other.”

“At that time, she told me she was preparing for the National College Entrance Examination, aiming for a top university, especially University A. With her excellent grades, admission was practically guaranteed. I kept waiting for her good news.”

Roschelle’s smile faded. “We hadn’t spoken for a long while. I assumed she was focused on studying and too busy to go online.”

“Later I learned she did take the exam, but failed to perform well, ending up at a mediocre school.”

Alarieka’s gaze gradually turned icy. Every word Roschelle spoke was accurate. Her entire account was built upon thorough investigation into Lindsey Weaver.

Roschelle laughed, tears welling in her eyes again. “We’d promised each other to become outstanding, successful pianists. That’s why I went abroad to study. I never knew she faced such hardships… never knew she battled depression.”

“Had I known… had I known she was in this city too, I would’ve helped her without hesitation.”

“If I’d helped her… perhaps she wouldn’t have taken her own life.”

The phrase “taken her own life” sent a wave of murmurs sweeping through the audience.

Roschelle gazed longingly at Lindsey’s image on the screen.

“Alarieka, I know you have many questions. Let me explain everything.”

Roschelle lifted the microphone, her voice gentle yet laced with anxiety. “It’s true–I am not Lindsey Weaver.”

Someone in the audience shot up angrily: “You lied to us!”

Roschelle lowered her eyelids, her smile faint. “I know. I’ve wronged you all.”

“I’m sorry for deceiving you.”

She bowed deeply to the audience, remaining bent for a long moment.

Straightening up, she drew a shaky breath like a fragile white flower.

“Love’s Affection did plagiarize Yearning Sonata. For this, I must offer my deepest apologies once more.”

She bowed again. The audience remained unmoved, watching her in silent fury. Even her once-ardent fans now wore expressions of profound disappointment.

Unfazed, Roschelle continued: “Lindsey took her own life due to depression. By the time I learned… a month had already passed.”

A single tear traced down her cheek.

“I lost a friend who’ll never return. I knew her aspirations, understood her ambitions, felt the weight she carried. I couldn’t let her final composition vanish with her.”

“You can all hear it–‘Aspiration‘ is a masterpiece. Getting such work recognized nationally and internationally? Nearly impossible. So I resorted to… unsavory methods to generate attention.”

Roschelle laughed through tears. “I deliberately plagiarized to create ‘My Love‘–just to make people notice ‘Aspiration.‘ And it worked. Lindsey Weaver and ‘Aspiration‘ finally stand in the public eye.”