Underground Idol X Raised In R-peture -dear Fan... ❲CERTIFIED | Pick❳

The pink-haired girl was last. She was trembling. “X, I... I’m moving to Osaka tomorrow. I won’t be able to see your shows anymore.”

X zipped her bag and stood. For a moment, she looked at the empty folding chairs, the scuffed floor where the salaryman’s tear had fallen. “In the facility,” she said quietly, “before they left, the last scientist played me a recording. It was the sound of a concert. Thousands of people cheering. He said, ‘This is what love sounds like. You’ll never have it, but you can fake it well enough to make others feel it.’” Underground Idol X Raised In R-peture -Dear Fan...

The synthesizer hummed. The lyrics were simple, almost childish: If you forget me, I’ll remember twice. If you turn away, I’ll learn your shadow’s shape. The pink-haired girl was last

“But what if I don’t?”

So am I.

And somewhere in the abandoned sub-basement, on a hard drive still flickering with residual power, a long-dead scientist’s final log played on loop: “Subject X is a failure. She feels too much. She remembers every face. She cannot stop caring. Recommendation: terminate.” I’m moving to Osaka tomorrow

“Then I’ll eat tomorrow.”