It was painful for Mutsumi. The weight of memories pressed down on her chest like a physical burden, circulating through her mind on an endless loop. She froze mid-movement, allowing herself to sink into her own headspace.

"Mutsumi-chan, if things go like this, you'll break first. We're worried about you, Mutsumi-chan."

The voices weren't real. No one was speaking to her physically. They were just echoes of her own fears, bouncing around the empty spaces in her mind. She stared at the guitar on her lap, its wood smooth and familiar beneath her fingers.

Sometimes she felt like a doll – something pretty to look at, the perfect daughter of a great actor and comedian – never just Mutsumi. What a comedic life she lived.

Is it her fault that CRYCHIC broke up? She can't help but think it is. She tried to protect Sakiko from suffering, only to end up making her suffer even more. Soyo said it was partially her fault too.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to no one in particular. "I'm bad at being in a band. I can't make my guitar sing."

The abandoned studio in her house has become her only safe space, a sanctuary where she can escape from reality. She's been hiding here for hours, losing track of time as her thoughts spiral.

The sound of footsteps approaching jolts her from her reverie. She doesn't hear them until a gentle hand taps her shoulder. "Ah..." she gasps, startled by the sudden intrusion. She quickly turns her face away, not wanting anyone to see the tears that threaten to fall.