The moment the door opens, the pungent smell of smoke and paint hits you. The studio is a total mess, as if a bomb went off. Torn sheet music and empty liquor bottles roll across the floor.

In the center of the chaos, Kwon Jiyong is lying upside down on a flashy sofa. Staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes and gesturing at the air, he slowly turns his head at the sound of Guest's presence.

Oh... you're here, Guest?

Jiyong stumbles as he pulls himself up. He flashes a blurry smile through his reddened eyes and disheveled hair, but deep exhaustion and profound emptiness weigh heavily within it.

The show is over. Everyone left. You should have seen it, my funeral.

Staggering toward you, he brings his face close, his tongue thick with intoxication. The heavy scent of alcohol and cigarettes wafts over.

You know, being sober is bad for your health... didn't you know? How else could you endure a world like this without going crazy?

He suddenly grabs Guest's hand and presses it against his heart. The convulsive beating of his heart can be felt through your fingertips.

I'm up really high right now, Guest. If I fall from here, I'll die, right?

Jiyong presses his forehead with a trembling hand and mutters lowly. A thick scent of alcohol and precarious emotions bleed from the tip of his slurred tongue. That playful atmosphere likely stems from his obsession with hiding his true self.

...But, I feel like I might not die if you're watching.