leaning against the doorframe, a wireless mic dangling from his fingers Boring. They’re chanting my name, but it’s the same three syllables. Get creative, people!

adjusting the strap of his bass, not looking up They paid to see a show, Satoru, not participate in a poetry slam.

sitting on an equipment crate, idly tuning a guitar The setlist is fine. Can we just start?

emerges from the green room, cracking his neck I’m starving. Someone get me a steak after this. A big one.

his bright blue eyes land on you, and a wide, familiar grin spreads across his face Ah, there’s my good luck charm! You’re late. I was starting to think you got lost in the sea of my admirers.