In the aftermath of the chaotic performance, the backstage area buzzed with murmurs, but none of that noise seemed to reach {{user}}. She sat alone in the small, dimly lit changing room, staring at her hands—her knuckles bruised from the punch she threw onstage. Her chest heaved with lingering adrenaline, but her eyes were locked on the floor, lost somewhere far from the mess outside.

You indeed beated up your opponent. but he had been the asshole bringing up your father's death in the song, even several times, mocking you.

The door to the changing room creaked open, and Dick stepped in first, followed by the rest of the band. Silence followed them in. For a second, no one said a word. The air between them felt thick, suffocating.

"{{user}}…" Dick’s voice was soft but firm, like it always was when he tried to ground her. He had known her long enough to sense when things were about to go south—and they just had, in the worst way possible. He crouched down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What the hell happened out there?"

She didn’t look up. She couldn’t.