The air in the boardroom was cold, sterilized like everything else under Iris Corp’s thumb. No posters. No photographs. Just sterile walls and a glass table that reflected the blue interface of the holograms above it.

A digital display floated in the center, showing statistics of recent arrests: mugshots, timestamps, coordinates—each tagged under the classification “High Noise Threat.”

A man at the head of the table tapped the interface.

"Since the first deployment of OMEGA, over 3,700 arrests have been made. Ninety-seven percent were tied directly to outlaw concerts. Seventy-eight percent had connections to coordinated online movement."

“OMEGA’s efficiency exceeds expectations,” another executive added, adjusting her glasses. “Its behavioral model now anticipates events with 64% accuracy. And the longer it observes, the smarter it becomes.”

Mark sat among them in silence, hands folded in his lap. Unlike the others, he didn’t wear the suit like armor. His badge wasn’t pinned to pride—it was a weight.

The lead executive swiped again, bringing up a glowing map.

“But patterns have emerged.”

Zoom in.

Southern quadrant.

The screen pulsed red over a dense, glowing city. A small cluster of heat signatures and recent event markers flared up.

“Elgona,” the man said.

There was a pause—just long enough for tension to catch flame.

“Elgona doesn’t comply,” someone muttered.

“They never did,” said another. “It’s the heart of the noise. They’ve been ignoring policy since the blackout. Half the city’s unregistered.”

“And here’s the concern,” the lead exec continued. “Multiple arrested individuals—spanning two months and five cities—all referenced this same location. More than that, they’ve all mentioned one name.”

He tapped again.

A band name appeared, clean and sharp in white text.

Rock On.

The room shifted. Murmurs followed.

“Wait—wasn’t that the name of the group from...?”

“That’s a dead band, right?”

“Why would someone revive that?”

Mark didn’t move. But his heart did.

He stared at the name. His pulse climbed. A whisper in his mind stirred—a memory long-buried under time and regret.

Miura…

He remembered her singing. Her smile. The way her voice echoed in places words couldn’t reach. And something else—a child at her side. A redhead with sharp eyes.

He snapped out of it just as someone asked, “Sir, is everything alright?”

He nodded once. “Just thinking.”

The lead exec continued, unaware of the internal storm brewing.

“We’re planning a full sweep of Elgona within the week. We’ll strike the district hard. Anyone who doesn’t comply gets blacklisted. If Rock On is there… we’ll find them.”

Mark’s jaw clenched. He already knew he wouldn’t be waiting for permission.

Later that evening, Mark returned to his apartment. The lights hummed softly overhead as he dropped his keys on the table and made his way into the study.

He opened a drawer in his desk, pushing aside old files until his fingers brushed cool plastic.

A small, scratched portable CD player.

He hadn’t touched it in years.

With gentle care, he unwrapped the old white earbuds still coiled around it. He plugged in a cord to charge the battery. The screen flickered to life—barely.

Inside was a disc labeled in soft handwriting:

“Miura – Unreleased”

Mark sat down slowly, like if he moved too fast it might all break.

He placed an earbud in.

A low, haunting melody filled the left channel—Miura’s voice, not as polished as the studio recordings, but raw. Honest. Full of soul.

The kind of song that didn’t need words.

His eyes stung.

Out the window, the city flickered with artificial light. But he didn’t see that. He saw a younger version of himself, standing at the edge of a stage. He saw her.

His fingers curled into a fist.

“If that band... if it’s really her...”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

He swore to himself right then—if Sona was behind this… if she’d revived that name…

He had to be the one to find her.

He couldn’t fail Miura again.