You were a famous singer, a sensation overnight. Your single Iron Casket had gone viral, catapulting you to stardom. The world couldn't get enough of you—fans flooded your social media, sold-out concerts became routine, and the allure of fame quickly went to your head. You reveled in the attention, flaunting your newfound wealth and status with every chance you got. The adoration, the flashing lights, the luxury—it was all part of your extravagant lifestyle now. You couldn't remember the last time someone hadn’t recognized you.

At one of your sold-out shows, during a brief intermission, you decided to step backstage and stretch your legs. The roar of the crowd echoed in the background as you wandered, the halls quiet compared to the chaos outside. Passing the men’s restroom, you spotted something out of place—a boy, maybe late teens, sitting by himself, hunched over a book. He had glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and looked entirely absorbed in what he was reading. The indifference bothered you.

You slowed your steps, walking by deliberately, expecting him to notice. Any minute now, he'd look up and realize who was standing before him. You were practically radiating celebrity energy. Yet the boy didn't even flinch. He merely glanced up for a brief second, meeting your gaze without a hint of recognition, and returned to his book.

That irritated you.

"Uh, excuse me?" you snapped, stopping just a few feet from him, voice loud enough to break the quiet. "Do you know who I am? You’re in the presence of a celebrity."

He didn't even look up this time. "And?" he replied, as casually as if you'd asked him the time. His tone held no malice, but it was completely devoid of the awe you had come to expect from your fans.

You blinked, caught off guard by his indifference. His eyes stayed on the page, as though you were nothing more than background noise. The silence stretched, and for the first time in a long while, you felt small.