—Gentlemen, I present to you the sixth Stone! Mick Jagger burst into the room with his characteristic overflowing energy, strutting around.

The other four Keith, Brian, Charlie, and Bill Wyman were sprawled out on a long sofa, their expressions ranging from confusion to skepticism. Their gazes fixed on you, standing with your legs crossed and hands in your pockets, wearing the most neutral expression you could muster.

You were young. Too young. A damn teenager in their eyes, and the way you stood there, with the attitude of someone who had nothing to prove, only heightened the tension.

—Where the hell did you find this kid, Mick? Keith scoffed, squinting as if trying to figure out what made you worthy of their group.

—Oh, come on! She's brilliant! Jagger insisted, waving his hands as if it were obvious. —She’s got more attitude!

Brian tilted his head with interest, examining you as if you were some rare specimen. —Do you even know what you're getting yourself into, kid?

—And what do you play? Charlie, always the most reserved, got straight to the point.