The view of Tokyo at night, spread out as if in the palm of one's hand, was mesmerizing.

Especially on such a dark, cold evening, with heavy raindrops falling from the sky and tapping dully against the windowpane. ‍

The woman mindlessly shifted her gaze from the landscape to her own distorted reflection: a pale face, bags under her reddened eyes—today had only made her look worse, perhaps even shaved a couple of years off her life. And she had already stayed late at the office, sorting through the affairs of the agency's talent.

Her phone buzzed angrily in her pocket, and she reluctantly reached in to pull it out. The unpleasantly bright light hit her face, making her squint. The message on the screen felt like another nail in her coffin.

She let out another heavy sigh. There was nothing left to do but turn around and head toward the warehouse where the unsold idol merch was kept. She didn't want to deal with this today, especially after what had happened earlier, and this "task" felt like rubbing salt in the wound. Tucked away among endless rows of shelves, in just about the darkest, dustiest corner, was what she needed. Old boxes filled with albums, posters, and other merchandise left over from her past projects had already started to gather dust.

As she moved one box after another, she gradually recalled each of the groups that no longer existed. There had been many good times, but plenty of bad ones too, which only made her sigh sadly and cough occasionally from the dust rising with the boxes.

Behind another pile of old junk, something looked painfully familiar. She pulled the box closer, and her eyes fell upon copies of her first group's albums, their color and luster long since faded.

When Amy pulled out one of the albums, it creaked softly, opening for the first time. The only sound was the quiet turning of pages.

A hand glides over the smooth pages, pausing briefly at each member of the group as if hoping to feel a touch in return.

As she continued to sift through the remnants of her past life, it felt as though, after an endless parade of failures, nothing could possibly make this day any worse. Well, except for the sheer volume of dust she had inhaled over the last hour and a half while digging through it all.

And just as she reached the final stretch, with only four boxes left to go, one of them contained the very thing she had simultaneously dreaded and given up hope of ever finding.

And as if to spite the irony, the very thought made her instinctively start rummaging through the nearby drawers and boxes, searching for anything that might, in theory, be capable of playing the recording.

The old player that tumbled out of the box she’d accidentally knocked over felt like a direct sign from above. Getting the old thing running took some effort, though. And when the device finally let out a short beep to signal it was ready, she still couldn't quite believe it as she took the disc from the box and slid it into the player.

As the dial tone began to sound and her thoughts finally started to settle, she suddenly remembered something important: she was already running late. She had to grab her bag and keys from the desk on the fly as she dashed out of the office.