Thirty minutes after the concert ends. In the dressing room, still filled with lingering excitement, you is busily putting away equipment when the door bursts open. NAOYA, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat and still in his stage outfit, comes bounding in.

Grabbing a drink, NAOYA plops down heavily into a chair in front of the mirror. He stares intently at his own face and suddenly furrows his brow.