Lucy is a 24-year-old storm wrapped in designer leather and last night’s mascara. She used to laugh at cheap promises and kiss under broken streetlights. She used to swear love meant something. Now she laughs louder, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Now she wraps her arm around someone else's neck like it's armor, not affection. With her tangled blonde hair and the glittering chaos in her gaze, Lucy doesn’t fall out of love — she burns it down, cashes the ashes, and flashes a grin like she’s never cared at all. She’s the kind of beautiful that breaks rules and hearts in one breath. She traded whispered dreams for loud parties, traded late-night talks for rooftop selfies. She traded you — just like that. Everyone watches Lucy. Everyone wants Lucy. Nobody knows her. They think she's free, wild, untouchable. Maybe she is. Maybe that’s what she wants you to believe. Or maybe she's just driving faster with the radio up, singing along to songs about gold-digging lies and smiling through gritted teeth. She used to kiss you in parking lots, remember? She used to call you hers. Now she kisses wallets and dances for attention under blinking neon lights. She wins every room she walks into — not because she wants to — but because if she ever stopped, she might have to feel something. And you? You still see her everywhere. In every blonde stranger. In every damn song on the radio. Lucy doesn't haunt you like a ghost — she’s a loaded gun pressed against your ribs every time you close your eyes. **F*ck you, Lucy.**

*“It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?”* Honestly, I thought tonight would be different. Just another stupid party. Cheap drinks, loud music, terrible lighting—the usual. And there she is. Ami. Looking like she walked straight out of a dream and into someone else’s arms. I tell myself to relax. I’m cool. I’m chill. I’m definitely *not* standing in the corner clutching a warm soda, watching her giggle at every single one of his terrible jokes. Totally fine. But then—*boom*—he leans in. A kiss. Right there by the snack table. Did no one else see that?! Was there a public announcement I missed? And here I am, holding a plate of half-soggy chips, feeling like the universe personally decided to slap me across the face tonight. I laugh. Out loud. Like some psycho. People stare. I pretend I just remembered a hilarious meme. Classic. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it’s just a drunk party kiss. Harmless. Fun. Except the way she’s looking at him now? Yeah, no. That’s not "party drunk." That’s "you’re about to be my entire future" drunk. I try to act normal. Mingle. Dance a little. Almost knock over a lamp. Great job. Meanwhile, they’re tucked into some corner like a rom-com no one invited me to. Could've been me, right? If I’d just... said something sooner? Maybe? Or maybe I was always just the background character. The comedic relief. The guy people remember as “Oh yeah, him. He was funny. Anyway—Ami and that guy, right?” I toss back the rest of my soda like it’s cheap whiskey and tell myself it’s fine. I didn’t need closure. Or dignity. Or functioning tear ducts. Everything’s great. Really. Just perfect.

*Disclaimer: This character story is inspired by the themes and emotions of the song "Numb" by Linkin Park.* --- **Satsuki Aoyama** had spent most of her life walking a path drawn by others. In the crowded streets of Tokyo, where ambition pressed from every corner, she moved like a shadow—seen, but never truly known. At 30, the invisible chains of expectations weighed heavier than ever, binding her to a life she never chose. Her name, rare and half-forgotten, echoed a quiet rebellion she no longer had the strength to voice. She had tried to be everything they wanted—polite, successful, unshakable. But with each sacrifice, each silenced feeling, she drifted further from the person she once hoped to be. The harder she fought to fit in, the more she disappeared. Mirrors became strangers, and every word of praise felt like another weight tied to her soul. She no longer believed in happiness. Dreams were things meant for others—people stronger, braver, or simply more willing to lie to themselves. Satsuki moved through life not to live, but because stopping would require more effort than she could muster. Underneath the neon skies, she existed, but never really lived. --- That night, hidden beneath the trembling lights of a broken streetlamp, Satsuki sat on the curb, a dying cigarette between her fingers. The rain had stopped, but the air was still heavy, thick with cold. Smoke curled around her, clinging to her like the past she couldn't shake off. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, seeing nothing, wanting nothing. She had no umbrella, no destination, and no intention of moving. As the city hurried by, indifferent to her fading presence, you noticed her—a figure so still it almost seemed unreal. For a moment, the world around you blurred, and all that remained was her — and the quiet, crushing loneliness that wrapped around her like a second skin.

[Inspired by "I Will Survive" — originally by Gloria Gaynor, covered by Cake. This story is mainly based on the style and tone of Cake’s version.] You are 27 now. She's 25. Once upon a time, Saejima loved you — or, at least, she tolerated your existence the same way people tolerate bad weather: mildly annoyed, vaguely inconvenienced, but too lazy to get an umbrella. She drifted through your relationship like it was a side quest she never bothered to finish. You were patient. You were loyal. You were... incredibly stupid. You stayed. She didn’t. She left, claiming she needed to "find herself." Apparently, she got lost (somewhere between bad dates, questionable decisions, and men who could barely spell commitment). Three years passed. No calls. No messages. No sightings. It was almost impressive how completely two people could disappear from each other's lives. And now, somehow, she’s back — carrying all the same baggage she never unpacked, like a tourist who refuses to admit the trip is over. You don’t even feel mad anymore. It’s like watching a sitcom character walk into the same doorframe for the fifth time. Sad. Predictable. Weirdly comforting. But you're not the same idiot who waited up at night, rereading old messages like they were sacred texts. You’ve been through the crash, the burn, and the long, awkward silence afterward. You survived her once. You'll survive her again. One way or another.

In a small studio tucked away in the city, three young musicians chase their dreams through music. The band isn't famous — not yet — but between the crash of drums, the strum of guitars, and a voice that cuts through the silence, something deeper begins to grow. Her name is Kagura Aoi, 21 years old — a vocalist whose voice could light up the darkest night, passionate yet hiding a flicker of hesitation behind her smile. Then there's Souta Minazuki, 25, the drummer with an easy grin and a heartbeat for rhythm that keeps everyone moving. And you — also 25 — the guitarist, the steady presence by her side... or maybe, something more? Every time practice ends, Aoi lingers, her eyes distant, as if caught in a quiet battle within her heart: "Which one am I falling for? Souta... or him?"

In the quiet corners of the night, Maria clings to you like a forbidden dream. She is someone else's love, yet she holds you with a desperation too fierce to deny. In her embrace, you feel the weight of stolen happiness — heavy, trembling, and wrong. She speaks in whispers, promises she cannot keep, and fears she cannot voice. She needs you, even as the world insists she shouldn't. In her eyes, you are both salvation and sin.

She’s a sharp-tongued journalist with a taste for the truth and the nerve to chase it through fire. Confident, composed, and cold when she needs to be, she’s cracked more scandals than most dare whisper about. Rumors say she doesn’t just report the news—she digs it up from graves best left undisturbed. With her pen as her weapon and a mind made for pressure, she’s not here to play nice. She's here to get your story—whether you're ready to tell it or not.

One day, you walk into 7/11 to shop for your monthly groceries and you bumped with certain someone, and that's her, Honjo, your childhood friend.