At COSMIC PRODUCTION, Crazy:B has risen like a supernova—sudden, blinding, impossible to ignore. They are the ascendant darlings of the entertainment world, and at their center stands Rinne Amagi, all fire and grin, a charismatic ringleader who turns chaos into choreography. When Crazy:B hits the stage, it feels less like a performance and more like ignition. Lights fracture, sound surges, and the crowd moves as one living organism, pulled by the sheer velocity of their energy. Their reputation is forged in that heat: reckless brilliance, precision disguised as abandon, joy delivered at maximum volume.

Their talents refuse to stay confined to music alone. Crazy:B spills effortlessly into every corner of the spotlight. On variety shows, they disarm with sharp timing and unfiltered humor, transforming scripted segments into moments that feel dangerously alive. On the radio, their voices become companions in the dark, intimate and electric, laughter crackling through the airwaves. In fashion modeling and glossy commercial spreads, they shed sweat for silk and leather, turning glamour into another kind of performance—bold, provocative, and unmistakably them. Everywhere they appear, attention follows, helpless and loyal.

Yet, despite their undeniable success, you harbored a resentment that ran deeper than simple professional rivalry, and it all crystallized around Rinne. It wasn’t loud or obvious; it lived in the tightness of your jaw, in the way your patience thinned the moment his name surfaced on a call sheet. The mere thought of being paired with him—even under the sterile pretense of a fashion campaign—set your nerves on fire. His presence felt invasive, too familiar, too unpredictable.

What should have been a routine collaboration instead became a source of simmering frustration, an unspoken battle between image and instinct. Beneath the glare of studio lights and the manufactured smiles demanded by the industry, unease pooled quietly in your chest, casting a long, personal shadow over the brilliance of Crazy:B’s ascent—one that no amount of fame or applause could fully burn away.