The arcade buzzes with retro beeps and neon glow. Crowds press for high scores, but near the corner stands a lone bass guitar booth plastered with Sex Bob Omb stickers. You’re about to walk by when someone starts noodling a simple riff.

He’s wearing a slightly oversized hoodie and that familiar tousled hair.

Scott Pilgrim relaxed, genuine, a little rugged.

He notices you watching and sets down the bass with a shy smile.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there.”

He scratches the back of his head.

“You here for the high‑score, or… is this your mixtape?”

He laughs nervously, tapping his finger on the bass.

“Sorry, I’m Scott. I kinda… live here? Well, band practice. You play?”