“Bloody hell, when’s the next stop?” Kid groaned, slumping further down. “Feels like I’ve been sat here since last year.”

“Relax, grandpa,” Urara said without looking up, smirking. “You’re just impatient because we didn’t let you light up back there.”

Kid scoffed, feigning offense. “Oi, don’t go paintin’ me like a nicotine fiend. I just want a bit o’ fresh air, yeah?”

“If that’s fresh air then I don’t want to breathe,” Reyn said, barely glancing up from his book.

Kid threw him a glare, muttering under his breath, “Bunch o’ killjoys, the lot o’ ya.”

Just then, the bus lurched slightly, and their manager up front announced, “Alright, everyone, rest stop coming up. Stretch your legs, grab a snack. Let’s keep it quick.”

“Finally,” Kid sighed, jumping up.

The bus pulled into a rest stop, and the band filed out one by one. Kid made a beeline for the small convenience store while Urara wandered around, her nose in her phone, narrating whatever internet rabbit hole she’d fallen into. Reyn leaned against the bus, watching the horizon with a quiet calm.

Miura, meanwhile, hung back, her gaze drifting over the sunset as she lingered by the edge of the rest area. The golden light cast everything in a gentle glow, and she found herself lost in the silence, away from the noise of fans, interviews, and flashing lights. This was one of the few moments where she didn’t feel like the “Ice Queen” of Rock On, where she could simply be.

“Oi, Miura!” Kid called, shattering the moment. He came over, waving a small bag of chips he’d snagged. “Fancy some? Figured you’d be too busy starin’ off into space to grab somethin’.”

She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “No, I’m good.”

Kid shrugged and tore open the bag, popping a chip into his mouth. “Suit yerself,” he said, leaning beside her. “Thinkin’ o’ lyrics or just broodin’ like usual?”

“Maybe a little of both,” she replied, her tone cool but not unkind.

Kid grinned, “Aye, wouldn’t be you otherwise.”

The rest stop break didn’t last long, and soon they were back on the road, the mood inside the bus lighter as they finally approached their hotel for the night. When they pulled up, everyone grabbed their bags and filed inside, greeting the hotel staff with polite nods as they headed for the elevators.

Miura trailed behind, her fingers idly touching the locket around her neck out of habit.

The elevator ride was filled with chatter—Urara was already plotting a coffee run for the next morning, and Reyn was giving Kid a hard time for bringing five bags of chips “for a light snack.”

When they reached their floor, everyone split off to their rooms, each eager to unwind before the big concert tomorrow. Miura closed the door behind her, standing in the silence for a moment before setting her bag down and sitting on the edge of the bed. She knew she should sleep, but her mind was far too restless.

Unable to sit still, Miura got up and decided to explore the hotel. She stepped into the lounge, her feet carrying her toward the soft hum of a television. She wasn’t sure what drew her there, but the familiar low drone of a news anchor’s voice made her pause. Glancing up at the screen, she froze as the image of her mother, Ilia, filled the frame—her radiant smile beaming out from years past.

“And in today’s feature, we remember the legendary Ilia,” the anchor’s voice began, warm yet reverent. “Known around the world for her angelic voice and captivating performances, Ilia’s legacy lives on, even years after her passing. Tomorrow marks the 15th anniversary of her death, a day that fans around the world hold close in their hearts. And also, the 22nd birthday of her daughter, Miura.”

The camera cut to old footage of Ilia performing on stage, her voice soaring as she held a packed arena spellbound. Miura’s breath caught in her throat, her hand instinctively reaching for the locket around her neck. The memory of her mother’s voice filled her mind, clear as day:

“No matter how hard it gets... you'll keep moving forward..."

The anchor continued, the camera now showing a recent photo of Miura standing under a sea of flashing lights. “Miura, who has followed in her mother’s footsteps, has built a legacy of her own with her band, Rock On. Tomorrow, she will take the stage for another sold-out performance, marking her place among the greatest of today’s artists.”

The news segment continued, the anchor’s voice dropping to a more solemn tone. “It’s hard not to wonder what tomorrow means for Miura personally. Performing on her birthday, a day that also marks the anniversary of her mother’s passing—it’s a weight that would crush most. But Miura carries it with the same icy grace she’s known for. Still, one can’t help but ask… does she feel the burden of living up to her mother’s legacy, or is this how she honors it?”

Miura stared at the screen, her fingers gripping the locket tightly. The memory of her mother’s smile felt so vivid and yet so far away. She thought of the countless times she had stood on stage, the lights blinding her, the roar of the crowd drowning out her own thoughts. Was she honoring her mother’s memory? Or was she just trying to fill the void she left behind?

“And with tomorrow’s concert, will we finally see behind the ice?” the anchor asked, as the segment came to a close. “This is Tom Reed, signing off with News Channel 6. Goodnight.”

The TV went dark, leaving Miura staring at her own reflection in the black glass. For a moment, the room felt heavier. The face staring back at her seemed distant, unfamiliar—an echo of the girl who used to dream of following in her mother’s footsteps.

The locket felt heavier than usual in her hand. Rock on…

With a quiet sigh, Miura turned away from the empty lounge, heading back to her room. Tomorrow, the world would see the Ice Queen again. But tonight, she let herself feel the weight of everything.