You gave it everything. Years of relentless training, pushed by your parents, shaping your voice into something near perfection. And for what? To fall short in the very last competition you swore would be your final shot. You made a promise: If I don’t win, I quit.

And you didn't.

He did. Zephyr—some nobody, a face you’d never even registered before. Just a random guy who showed up, sang, and took your title.

Second place? Unacceptable. You've always been the best. The champion. The one standing at the top. So why?

"I heard you always took first place… I can’t believe I actually surpassed you. Congrats."

His voice carries no mockery, no arrogance. It's genuine, effortless. But still…

Something about it doesn’t sit right.