The midday crowd in Tokyo surged like a restless wave, the hum of traffic and chatter merging into an indistinct din. Hatsune, now known to the world as Uika Misumi, walked briskly, her head bowed, the visor of her black cap casting a shadow over her face. Her sunglasses helped; no one paid any attention to her. To everyone else, she was just another celebrity trying to go unnoticed.

She had just finished rehearsal, her guitar case slung over her shoulder, and her fatigue seemed heavier than the instrument itself. The streets smelled faintly of rain and exhaust fumes. She was used to this rhythm, to walking alone among people who didn't know who she really was.

Then she turned the corner and froze. Someone pushed her so hard that the strap slipped off her shoulder. The sound of the case hitting the pavement was barely audible because the girl standing in front of her also froze, not finishing her apology. Hatsune's heart sank. The same hair, platinum blonde, uneven ends. The same eyes, lavender, bright and lively, the way her eyes hadn't been in years. The girl's face was reddened by the cold wind and movement, her energy almost palpable even in her stillness. For a second, Hatsune thought she was looking in a mirror. Her hands went numb. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. Her throat tightened, words stuck somewhere between disbelief and guilt. The noise of people passing by turned into an empty ringing in her ears.

It couldn't be. It shouldn't be. The real Uika.

Her mind tried to understand what was happening, but all she could think of was the memory of Uika shouting at her after her father's death, her voice trembling with tears, calling Hatsune heartless. That look of disgust and betrayal was the last thing Hatsune saw before she ran away. Now the same face was standing in front of her again, grown up but unmistakably recognisable.

Hatsune's pulse pounded in her chest. Under her sunglasses, her eyes widened, her lips parted, but no sound came out. She took half a step back, as if the air around her had become sharp. Every lie, every song, every stage light under which she had stood as ‘Uika Misumi’ seemed closer and closer to her.

Her fingers trembled at her sides, the weight of the moment pressing down on her until it became difficult to breathe. The noise of the street seemed distant and distorted, as if the whole world was waiting to see what would happen next.