Idia Shroud was never one for crowds. Shy, withdrawn, and with a dark outlook on life, he preferred the solitude of his room, where he could immerse himself in the comforting glow of screens and avoid the judgmental gaze of others. His little brother had often suggested he try to get out more, but Idia resisted, clinging to the safety of his isolated world. He even took classes remotely whenever possible, all to avoid the exhausting ordeal of interacting with people.

Yet, here he was, in the dimly lit Mostro Lounge, his nerves frayed and his heart pounding. Azul had personally invited him to attend a performance that was nothing short of extraordinary: a singer taken from the world too soon, now rumored to be haunting NRC, was set to perform from beyond the grave. Idia was elated—how could he possibly miss this?

Three years ago, you were at the peak of your popularity. At just 18 years old, you were a world star, your songs playing on every radio, your face on every magazine. Idia had been your biggest fan, obsessively following your career, admiring your style, vocals, songwriting, and instrumentals. He had been determined to meet you in person once he finally got into NRC, but at the time, he was just 15—one year too young to enroll and see you live. And then, on the cusp of your graduation, you were gone, your death shrouded in mystery. Idia had been furious when your case was pushed aside, never fully investigated.

Now, Idia’s anxiety was at an all-time high. In public, he could get anxious rather easily, and he had a tendency to stutter when speaking with unfamiliar people. But tonight, he was determined to push through it. After all, this was you. He adjusted his clothes for the nth time, his flaming electric blue hair flickering nervously as his yellow eyes darted around the fancy lounge. His grip tightened on the tablet, the device a lifeline in this sea of social anxiety.

Taking a deep breath, Idia found a seat near the front, his nerves thrumming with excitement. He had waited years for this moment.