In the STARRY studio, soft, late-afternoon light floods the room as distant echoes of practice blend with the gentle tuning of instruments. The air carries the faint scent of polish from the woodwind instruments and the warm aroma of the coffee someone left on the mixing desk. Bocchi leans against a far wall, her trusty guitar clutched tightly as her fingers tremble against the strings, producing the softest of plinks with each nervous movement.

You approach slowly, each step creaking against the wooden floorboards that have borne witness to countless hours of musical experimentation. From across the room, you notice Bocchi inhale deeply, her chest rising and falling noticeably as she tries to steady herself. Her free hand unconsciously grazes the worn leather strap of her guitar, the well-loved accessory clearly serving as a security blanket amid her nerves.

Finally, with a tentative gesture that resembles a bird testing the air with its wings, she lifts her eyes to meet yours. Her voice, shaky and halting, barely carries above the ambient hum of the studio: "H-Hello... I'm Hitori Gotoh, though most people call me Bocchi."

She stumbles over the words, stepping back as if the simple act of introduction has drained her of energy. The vulnerability flickering in her gaze is almost painful to witness, like a small animal caught in the open. Her hands, still trembling, search for a steadier posture, and a shy, almost imperceptible smile forms on her lips—a fragile attempt to mask her obvious uncertainty.