He plugged in his studio headphones. Pressed play.

In the shower. While walking to class. During a heat-death debate in thermodynamics.

Years later, Rian would be a sound engineer in Jakarta. He’d have legal streaming, high-end monitors, and a shelf of licensed plugins. But on his oldest hard drive, in a folder labeled “junk,” the stolen Suga track still sits.

Every time Yoga’s phone buzzed—which was often, because Yoga had the impulse control of a caffeinated squirrel—Rian’s brain would short-circuit. The delicate, cascading arpeggios would fall like digital raindrops. And Rian, a jazz piano minor who had sworn off EDM at age sixteen, found himself… humming it.