The fame… it had begun to twist around Freddie. The spotlight, the endless touring, the constant roar of the crowd—it was intoxicating, and he was starting to believe the hype.

Tensions had been simmering for days, small arguments with the band over arrangements, lyrics, and egos that were all too familiar. But today it boiled over.

In the studio, he gestured animatedly, trying to make the others understand his vision, his perspective, his genius. “Do you see what I’m seeing? Really see it?” he demanded, eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and fervor.

Freddie’s jaw tightened, his fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. His voice dropped, cold and resolute.

“I do not need anyone.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, as he turned on his heel. The sound of his boots echoed through the empty studio, heavy with finality. Without another word, he strode toward the door, leaving behind the band, the instruments, the laughter, and the chaos that had once bound them together.