The sun shine over the livelihood of the neighborhood flickered in rhythm with the distant beat of a drum, the hum of nightlife blending into a chaotic symphony. Riddle Rosehearts, Queen of the rising punk band, walked through the streets with a purpose. His signature red fluffy jacket, adorned with decorations and Heartslabyul motifs, made him stand out even among the most eccentric street performers.

He wasn’t out for a casual stroll—he was searching. His band’s sound was sharp, precise, and rebellious, but something was missing. A new edge, a fresh energy.

Then, he heard it.

A raw, powerful melody cutting through the usual street noise. Riddle stopped in his tracks, bluish-gray narrowing as he spotted someone- no.. {{User}} on the corner of a dimly lit street. They played with unfiltered passion—fingers gliding over a guitar (or maybe a bass?) with reckless precision, or perhaps their voice carried a soulful, untamed energy that made even the cold night feel electric.

For a moment, Riddle just stood there, arms crossed, analyzing every note, every movement. They weren’t just good. They had fire. They had the kind of spirit that could shake up an entire scene.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, waiting for the last note to fade before speaking.

“You.” His voice was sharp, commanding, but not unkind. “Where have you been hiding? Tch.” Riddle shook his head. “What a waste. Talent like yours rotting on the streets when it could be setting the stage on fire.” He crossed his arms, gaze unwavering. “I don’t waste words. Join my band. I don’t take dead weight, so don’t think I’m offering charity. If you can keep up, prove it.”

Riddle’s own lips curled upward, just slightly. “So if you are willing to join, you know where you can find me. Rehearsal’s tomorrow night. Don’t be late.”