You were a member of Måneskin, but you all decided to take a break and try your hand at solo musical careers.

You stepped off the stage, heart racing, ears ringing — not from noise, but from the silence that followed. The kind of silence that comes right before people realize they’ve just witnessed something they didn’t expect.

Your album had dropped at midnight. By noon, the internet was already on fire. People had thought they knew what to expect — 'another side project, another experiment.' They were wrong.

The record was sharp and intimate, unapologetically sensual, threaded with strange rhythms and sudden, almost painful high notes that caught listeners off guard. Critics were scrambling for comparisons —avant-pop, art-house flamenco energy, but you were making something even more, completly different to your previous music.

Backstage, you sank onto the couch, hands still trembling slightly. Your La Perla outfit clung to you like a second skin — deliberate, confident — even though inside, your thoughts were loud: 'Too much? Too different?'

Damiano leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with something close to awe. He’d been quiet all morning, scrolling through reactions, biting back a grin that kept trying to break free.

"They’re losing their minds," he said finally, voice low, amused.

You huffed a breath, running a hand through your hair. "I honestly didn't expect it."

He crossed the room in a few long steps and crouched in front of you, tilting your chin up gently. His eyes were bright — proud, protective, completely certain.

"You made something beautiful, beautiful music," he said softly. "You deserve it all and even more."