A heavy, silent snowfall began to blanket the city. It was 6:00 p.m. on New Year's Eve—exactly six hours before a countdown Sai would never finish. The snowflakes fell like frozen ash, sticking to the rain-slicked asphalt and blurring the neon glare of the skyscrapers.
Through the white haze, a sleek black van glided toward the backstage entrance of the arena. Its tires crunched over the fresh powder, leaving deep, dark tracks in the slush. Inside sat the seventeen-year-old legend, adjusting his leather jacket. He watched a single snowflake melt against the tinted window, oblivious that this would be his final performance.
While the fans screamed and the security guards checked badges below, a ripple moved through the darkness of the rafters.
High above the stage, perched on the cold steel of the Mothergrid, the Skull Mask looked down. He didn't use the stairs; he hadn't walked through the front doors. He was simply there, a glitch in the arena's security, watching the "King" rise on his industrial lift.
He felt the vibration of the bass through the soles of his boots—a phantom in the machine.
Inside the van, Sai's phone buzzed. It was Rico. The sound of clinking glasses and loud laughter spilled through the speakers.
"Hey, you coming over after your concert?" Rico asked.
"I'm busy, man. Stuck in traffic, almost at the venue," Sai replied.
"Oh right! You're en route to the Zenphyr Stage..."
"Mhmmm. Five minutes out."
"My bad, King. Forgot you're rolling up VIP while we're at the bar."
Sai smirked, leaning back into the leather seat.
"Why don't you guys just come to the concert? I'll give you all backstage passes. The full treatment."
Rico muffled the phone, shouting to the rowdy group of roadies in the background.
"Yo! Sai's dropping passes for the biggest gig in history. Who's in?"
A chorus of "Nah!" and "We're staying put!" echoed back amid the clink of bottles.
"They said they'll pass, man. We're staying put," Rico said, coming back on the line.
"What?! This is it, Rico. Can you even wrap your head around it? There's going to be something like a million people watching me tonight. A million!"
"Yeah, but you're still coming over after, right? Win-win? Don't ditch us!"
Sai sighed, looking out at the blurring city lights with a trace of fond disappointment.
"You guys are relentless. Fine. After this, I'm coming straight over."
Suddenly, the phone exploded with cheers and the sound of bass dropping.
"What the hell is that noise?!" Sai asked.
"Oh! Jax Storm just pulled up with us!"
"WHAT!"
Jax Storm snatched the phone, his signature gravelly rockstar drawl cutting through the static.
"Yo! Sai! It's me, Jax! Get your ass down here quick or you'll miss the fun. Shots are flowing!"
"Shit!! I really want to, but I've got a big-ass concert to finish first. I'll catch up once I'm done."
"Heck yeah! That's what I like to hear!!"
"Give the phone back to Rico," Sai laughed. "Rico? Tell the gang. Don't get drunk until I get there."
"You got it, Guitar King! Just don't 'chord' your way in late, or we'll all be 'flat' without ya!"
"Your jokes seriously piss me off sometimes, y'know!"
Rico's loud laugh and the crew's whooping were the last things Sai heard before hanging up. He stared at the dark screen for a second, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"Geez... those guys have no tact at all! "
A sleek black van glided through the snow, its headlights cutting a smooth arc toward the back of the massive stadium. They entered the fortified VIP loading bay, a polished concrete tunnel lined with high-end, diffused lighting and state-of-the-art security cameras. Two heavy, segmented steel gates—designed to keep paparazzi at bay—silently rolled open, sealing the private world behind them.
Sai leaned back, the custom leather creaking under his weight. He looked at the monitors. Four million souls. Four million people who would breathe when he told them to and scream when he struck a chord. On this night, he wasn't just a musician; he was a god with a digital pulse.
He closed the screen with a flick of his finger. The relative quiet was replaced by a low, vibrating rhythmic pulse. The chant—Na na na na... HAIZEN!—was already thrumming through the van's armor-plated floorboards.
The van halted in the brightly lit back-of-house area. Sai stepped out, flanked by his inner circle—six elite security guards in matching charcoal suits, their earpieces glowing green.
Kate, the stage manager, was already there, her face a mask of professional irritation.
"Why the long face, Kate?" Sai asked with a cocky grin.
"The sheer audacity of being late to your own concert," Kate snapped, clicking her stopwatch.
"Exactly! It's my concert," Sai countered, adjusting his collar. "And besides, the main attraction always saves the best for last."
"There you go again. You're being delusional," she sighed.
"What's wrong with that? Can't I have a moment to actually feel like someone?" He smirked.
"Look, I manage this entire machine to keep it running smoothly. If you arrive late again—"
"Yeah, yeah! It's not happening again."
"You promise?" Kate asked, eyeing him skeptically.
"Well... only if you call me King."
"Excuse me?"
"I said... call me King."
Kate rolled her eyes, a faint trace of a smile fighting through her stern expression. "I heard you the first time. I just find it absurd to call you anything but a headache."
Sai laughed, a genuine, vibrant sound. "Don't worry, Miss Manager. I've got you covered." He flashed her a smile—not the cocky one for the cameras, but a pure, confident expression that stopped her for a heartbeat.
Well, he's got a good smile, I'll give him that, she thought, finally letting out a defeated sigh.
"Thirty seconds to go, Sai. You ready?"
"You're always harsh as ever," Sai remarked, checking his guitar strap.
"Somebody has to be. If I didn't treat you like a brat, you'd forget your feet are still on the ground," she shot back. "Now get up there before they tear the roof off."
Both locked eyes for a second and shared a short, sharp laugh before the professional silence took over. Sai adjusted his strap, his eyes reflecting the dim lights. "This crap is 'bout to blow," he muttered.
"Good luck out there!" she called out as the hydraulics hissed.
"Still won't call me King?"
Kate only smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Are we really still on this?"
"Well... whatever."
The chant reached a fever pitch outside: Na, nanananana na... HAIZEN! Suddenly, the stage lift didn't just rise; it launched. Sai timed it perfectly, jumping as the platform reached its peak, a mid-air surge that made him look like he had been summoned by the screams of the crowd. He hit the deck in a power-slide, his fingers already tearing into the first massive chord.
The fans finally saw his face. The sheer intensity was too much for some; in the front rows, dozens of people buckled under the adrenaline, and medics scrambled to carry them out of the surge.
"SAI! SAI! SAI!"
He walked to the edge of the stage, raising his hand to the sky. For one heartbeat, he was the most powerful man on Earth.
After the first song ended, the feedback hung in the air like electricity. Sai stepped up to the mic. "Guess we're here once again... Japan!"
The crowd's roar was physical—a solid wall of sound.
"I'll let you kiss my ass, Sai!" a fan screamed from the front row.
Sai let out a few cackles, leaning over the edge of the stage. "Woah, woah! That's unnecessary, but thanks for the offer!"
The crowd erupted in laughter.
He paced the stage, adrenaline surging. "Anyway! Before we move on to our second song, give me a second for a quick speech."
A small wave of disappointment rippled through the back. "We want the next song!" someone yelled.
"It'll be a short one, I promise! Bear with me for just a minute, alright? Sound good?"
"If it's you, my King!" a fan called back.
The crowd cheered, settled by his charm.
"Alright! First of all, thank you so much for coming to this Year-End concert. Secondly, I'm so damn happy to be here. But more importantly, I am so DAAAAMN happy that you guys are here!" He gestured to the sea of humanity. "According to the official ticket count, the number of people present tonight is four million, three hundred fifty-six thousand, one hundred and... ONE!"
The crowd roared. Sai grinned, pointing a finger toward the back of the stadium. "Why not just make it a hundred and two, huh? Someone go find a stray cat or something!"
The crowd erupted in laughter once more.
"Anyway, can you believe that? We are making history! And with New Year's coming in just six hours, and because we've reached this milestone, I'm about to give you something special. I'm going to play... a song I've never released."
The fans went silent for a split second, flabbergasted, before the stadium practically exploded.
"Wait! Are you guys hearing what I'm hearing?!" one fan screamed.
"Yeah, because we have ears, idiot!" his friend barked back.
"Yo! My kidney is officially for sale! I need the vinyl for this!" another yelled.
Amidst the chaos, some fans mumbled amongst themselves, theorizing.
"This one is called... 'Daydream'."
The crowd roared with enthusiasm as Sai announced the title of the unreleased song.
"Just by the title, it feels like it's going to be a sad song," a girl whispered.
"To me, it sounds nostalgic," her friend replied.
"Nobody gives a shit about your opinion!" a guy nearby joked, shoving his friend's shoulder.
"I wonder what it'll sound like!" a fan whispered to her friend, clutching her hands to her chest. "I can't wait!"
"Oh my god, we're so lucky!"
"What a day to be alive! Thank you, Divine Beings!" another fan shouted.
High above, perched on the cold steel of the Mothergrid, the Skull Mask looked down. He reached into his shadow, drawing out a grotesque fusion of metal and biology cloaked in black smoke. He ejected the magazine. The bullets were nuggets of raw, pulsing flesh, twitching with a life of their own.
Thud. He slammed the magazine home. He took aim at the brachial plexus near the neck—a shot designed to induce instant, total unconsciousness.
As Sai Haizen raised his hand to strike the first chord of "Daydream ," the shot didn't just hit him; it silenced the world.
Sai didn't feel the pain—only a white-out of static. He fell backward, hitting the stage floor hard as a piercing, discordant scream of high-pitched feedback drowned out the panicked cries. He lay there, pinned under the spotlights, his chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate hitches.
"Huh?" A voice gasped.
Sai—or the shimmering, spectral echo of him—stood up from the center of his own chest. He looked down, horrified, at his own pale, unmoving body.
"W-w-w-what just happened?!"
Beyond the stage, the crowd turned into a nightmare of stampedes. But Sai's soul only saw the pathetic sight of himself sprawled out like a broken doll.
"Why am I lying there?! Why can I see my body?!" His spectral hands clawed at the air, trying to find a grip on a reality that was slipping away. "No! I haven't started singing the song! I didn't even get to the first verse... I was supposed to give them a miracle tonight, not a corpse!"
He looked up toward the rafters. The killer didn't speak. He didn't even breathe loud enough for the mics to pick up. He just stood there, a silhouette against the Mothergrid, watching the chaos he'd created.
Sai screamed, his spectral lungs burning with a cold he couldn't describe. "HEY! YOU! TALK TO ME! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!"
The Skull Mask's head tilted slightly—a robotic, predatory movement. His glowing red sockets locked onto Sai's shimmering chest. He raised a gloved hand, and his fingers danced in the air as if he were plucking invisible strings.
Sai's ears popped. The roar of the four million fans, the feedback, the wind—it all vanished. He saw the killer's mouth move behind the mask, a rhythmic, silent incantation. No sound came out. To Sai, it was just the visual of a death sentence being read in a vacuum.
I can't hear him, Sai realized, the panic finally turning into a cold, hard rage. He isn't even worth the sound of his own voice.
Suddenly, the silence was violated by a sound like grinding metal—a laugh that didn't come from the air, but from inside Sai's own skull.
"Wait... YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KILLED ME, AREN'T YOU!! YOU BASTARD!!!"
The killer made a slow, downward motion with his gloved hand. A jagged obsidian rift tore open behind Sai, and dozens of grotesque, grey hands erupted from the void.
"WHAT THE... Get off me! LET GO!!" Sai shrieked as the hands dragged him toward the abyss, peeling his soul away from his breathing body.
The killer's eyes glowed a deeper red, and suddenly, the silence broke. The words Sai couldn't hear a second ago now felt like cold needles stitching directly into his spirit, an echo of a language he didn't know:
"Varaniya amari tal, Sai Haizen. Mila bukum apa tika... furav phum, furav khan. Mi arav pila bukum mila... heyatvu eft zan."
The malice in the voice was unmistakable. The grey hands multiplied, swarming over him like pale, dead flesh. With the last of his strength, Sai roared into the void:
"I SWEAR, THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU... I'M GOING TO TEAR THAT MASK OFF YOUR FACE AND KILL YOU! YOU BASTARD!"
The killer laughed again, that same mechanical, haunting sound, as the hands snapped shut and the obsidian rift collapsed. The bind was complete.
As the darkness swallowed him whole, Sai Haizen made a silent, blood-stained vow: Wherever he landed, he would find his way back. And when he did, he would be the last thing the man in the Skull Mask ever saw.