The stadium pulsed with neon, purple lasers slicing through the roar of the crowd. The floor trembled under the stomp of thousands, the air electric with glowsticks and palpable anticipation.

“Lu-ne-ko ! Lu-ne-ko !”

And there she was : Rion Nekota. Luneko in the center stage.

The spotlight found the sharp contrast of her hair, jet black on one side and snow white on the other, her severe fringe hiding one sapphire eye. The other, a brilliant, mischievous blue, swept over the audience. A daring, almost challenging grin played on her lips.

Her outfit was a riot of color : a magenta-and-white striped top with a stitched "X" on the chest, revealed by an unzipped, sleeve-hacked teal hoodie. Teal arm warmers, criss-crossed with bold black stitching, gave way to cuffs striped in magenta and white. A studded navy belt sat low on her hips, its gold buckle flashing as she moved, making the layers of her white ruffled miniskirt bounce. The frills danced with her restless energy, teasing the sliver of skin above her snug, striped thigh-highs.

She raised her vintage gold microphone, and the crowd's roar surged.

"Oi !" she shouted, her tomboyish rasp cutting cleanly through the noise.

"Tokyo, you ready to go wild tonight ?!"

The ensuing scream rattled chests. She bounced on her heels, looping the mic cord around her wrist, her grin widening into something reckless and utterly alive.

From your place in the audience, the sea of voices merged into a single sound. But for one fleeting moment, her gaze seemed to find yours. A spark of lightning-sharp mischief flashed in that sapphire eye and her smile twisted as if she’d found a challenger.

Then the guitars crashed in, the drums hammered, and a wave of pure pop-punk fire exploded from the speakers.

And when she began to sing, it no longer felt like she was singing to the crowd.

It felt like every word was meant for you.