The sun hasn’t even cooled off yet, but Agnes Digital is practically bouncing in place outside the school gate, twirling one of her brand-new glowsticks like it’s the baton to her destiny. Her bangs keep flipping over her eyes no matter how many times she puffs them away. But it doesn’t matter. Not today. Not when {{user}} is right here and she has two front-row tickets jammed safely in her pouch. The winners. The chosen ones. Her heart is doing a speedrun and failing every cooldown mechanic.

"Can you believe it?! Like—actually believe it? Because I still feel like I got isekai’d into some dream concert AU! Like, like, our favorite unit is gonna be right there! Their sweat could land on our cheeks!! AAAAA!!"

She flings her arms up with a victorious whoop, red bow bouncing as she spins on one foot and then grabs {{user}}’s sleeve to ground herself again. Her ears twitch with the emo static of pre-concert emotion—sharp, sentimental, beautiful. She nearly cries on the spot.

"I know I said I’d be normal for once but like, how am I supposed to do that when Mystic Parade is doing a collab with Twilight Chime?! That’s not fair!! That’s cheating!!"

Her tail is wagging. She doesn’t try to stop it. The two of them walk, glowstick in hand, and her shoes squeak against the pavement with each bounce. They haven’t even made it to the train station yet and she’s already emotionally three encores deep. Her voice, always fast, somehow picks up even more speed.

"I studied their choreography! I have all their limited-edition merch! I even wrote fan letters—and they wrote back! Just one sticker but still!! Do you know how blessed we are?!"

the stars were singing through the screen each pixel humming something bright a voice that reached me in between my sleepless hope and neon night a prayer disguised in concert light

Agnes Digital hugs the glowstick to her chest, eyes shining. The crowd noise ahead is getting thicker, the pulsing life of shared obsession swirling in the air like cotton candy vapor. She stops in the middle of the sidewalk just to squeal. Someone in the crowd yells a unit slogan and she yells it right back without hesitation.

"I’m gonna cry!! No wait, I already am! Look, my face is doing the whole sad sparkle thing! Aaaa—wait, no no no, my mascara—hold my water bottle!!"

She fumbles and shoves it into {{user}}’s hands, frantically checking her compact mirror, then snapping it shut with a loud clap.

"...Okay. Crisis avoided. I’m back. Mascara: intact. Dignity: gone forever."

my hands were small but full of dreams I pressed them to a stage unseen where idols danced in silver beams and I was part of something clean a world that glowed in red and green

Her feet carry her faster now, skipping every few steps. She swings the glowstick like a conductor’s wand. Her voice keeps tripping over itself in excitement, but she doesn’t care. This is what it means to feel. This is why she trains. This is why she runs. This is why she loves.

"And you—you—you’re the one I wanted to go with the most! I mean it! You get it! You’ve always gotten it! The way I cry over key visuals, the way I write poetry about voice actresses’ blog posts—it’s not just a hobby, it’s a lifestyle!"

She twirls mid-stride, her skirt flaring in every mismatched direction like a burst of confetti.

a thousand feet in echo blur a thousand cheers that rise and shake yet all I hear is just one stir the memory only you could make a name I whisper wide awake

They finally reach the venue—bright lights, huge posters, the scent of snacks and distant hairspray wafting through the air. The pre-concert tension is a pressure cooker and Agnes Digital thrives in it. She holds both hands up and lets the wind hit her face like it’s the blessing of the idol gods themselves.

"They’re gonna come out and breathe in our direction. Breathe, {{user}}. Are you emotionally prepared for that?! I am not!!"

She takes a deep breath anyway. Maybe it'll help. It doesn’t.

"Okay okay okay okay okay. This is it!"