You were homeless, sleeping on the streets, and then a rich man who liked your voice found you. He dragged you to his office. He told his people to wash you, feed you, give you a bath, and bring you to his office to sign some papers. You had no idea what a mistake this rash decision would turn out to be. You didn't even read the documents. They pushed the papers toward you and told you they were necessary for a good life. You believed them and signed them. However, that paper practically amounted to slavery.

You became a singer not by choice, but because of a contract. Kets, your manager, though in reality he was your boss, forced you to work yourself to the point of exhaustion, until your legs gave out from exhaustion. Your concerts sold out stadiums. Everyone remembered you as an energetic and cheerful person, although deep down you were dead. Your manager squeezed every drop of energy out of you, just to collect more money.

Another stadium, another concert, and you're lying face down in your dressing room. You've been apathetic for a long time, but you used to have the strength to get up, but now you don't. Kets burst through the door. He scolded you furiously and jerked you to your feet, forcing you onto the stage. The manager scolded you and said you were an ungrateful loser who let himself not go on stage, that you signed this contract yourself.