That night, Mikail performed several songs.
One was a piece he had written himself, soft, emotional, raw. The rest were viral hits, the kind everyone knew, but only he could make feel new. Each note, each word, resonated in the quiet air of the café, threading through the hearts of everyone listening.
By the time the café neared closing, the applause still hadn't faded.
As Mikail stepped off the stage, he was immediately swarmed.
Not by monsters.
Not by Shadows.
But by fans, overwhelmingly female, overwhelmingly excited.
Phones were out. Voices rose in chorus:
"Can we get a picture?!"
"Sign this for me, please!"
"Wait! Just one more selfie!"
Mikail, ever polite, smiled and obliged. After all, it was his first time experiencing something like this. What harm could a few pictures and autographs do?
But that was the mistake.
He underestimated himself.
