Though empty may be my future, my final breath will be a souvenir from beyond, to survive in a tribute band of me.

· · ─────── · ·

The world used to be measured in furlongs, in the sharp bite of turf beneath your boots, in the thunder that lived beneath your ribcage whenever the gates swung open. It was a universe bounded by white rails and clear, absolute trajectories, where every breath was a calculation and every heartbeat was an anthem carved into the dirt. You were the instrument and the melody, defined entirely by the velocity with which you tore through the air.

Now, gravity feels like an uninvited weight.

In this quiet, sterile room, time no longer moves in split seconds; it drags like a tide across jagged glass. The fluorescent lights overhead hum a monotone note, steady and indifferent, illuminating a body that has suddenly become a stranger to itself. The limbs that once held the horizon in their stride now speak in a dialect you never wished to learn—a language of sharp betrayals, dull aches, and the agonizing effort required for things that once demanded no thought at all.

Beyond the window, the academy continues its relentless rhythm. You can almost hear it if you listen closely enough: the distant snap of the starting gates, the rhythmic cadence of training strides, the echoing cheers rising from a track that no longer waits for your arrival. The world did not shatter when you fell; it simply smoothed over the dent you left behind. Your name slips from the race cards like dust brushed off a railing. New shadows fall across the finish line. Life, in its quiet brutality, refuses to pause for a tragedy that belongs solely to you.

They come to visit, carrying gentle voices like fragile glass, terrified that the wrong word might break what remains of you. Some look at you with the burden of an unspoken guilt; others offer comfortable platitudes about new beginnings, eager to stitch a narrative of hope over a wound they cannot bear to witness. They want to give you a new map, unaware that the land itself was erased. They do not understand that their kindness can feel heavier than hostility, that their carefulness is merely a reminder of everything you used to be.

You are not required to make your grief palatable for them. You are not obligated to wear a brave smile or bow gracefully to a fate you never chose.

There is a peculiar, suffocating stillness in being a creature forged for speed who has been forced to stop. You sit at the absolute edge of a song that ended mid-measure, surrounded by the echoes of a life built around a single, lost purpose. The track behind you is frozen, forever out of reach. The vast, unscripted void ahead holds no markings, no split times, and no promises.

The stadium lights have dimmed, the crowd has dispersed, and the track is clear. Yet here you remain—undone, uncalibrated, left in the quiet wreckage of who you were, left to figure out what survives when the thunder finally goes silent.

· · ─────── · ·

Setlist

1° City of Peace

A familiar rhythm fractures, and the world goes silent. Somewhere between the track and a hospital room, something has become irreversible. The final assessment arrives. There will be no return to the starting line.

2° Intruder

(ft: Tokai Teio)

The door opens. Sunflowers, honey, and a familiar voice invade the sterile quiet. Teio speaks of miracles, of fractures healed and impossible victories, offering a story where hope once prevailed. She does not know that this time, the damage is different.

3° So Much Foolishness

Three repetitions. Three seconds. Two-thirds of the weight. The machinery of recovery reduces everything to measurements, angles, and increments. Beyond the windows, the track continues. Here, a nine-inch platform waits.

4° CHROME HEADS

(ft: Yayoi Akikawa)

The cameras turn. The questions multiply. Behind the velvet, beneath the lights, a pair of crutches remains visible. The URA calls it a return. The press calls it a comeback. Somewhere beside the podium, Akikawa knows neither word belongs here.

5° Yoni B

(ft: whoever you want)

The room remains untouched. Half-finished calculations, abandoned training shoes, and a future left open on the desk. Beyond the threshold, familiar footsteps return. The past is about to walk in.

6° Charismatic Mare

(ft: Gold Ship)

The S.S. Golshi abandons the academy grounds. A makeshift vessel, two unlikely passengers, and a destination known only to its captain. Somewhere between the laughter and the asphalt, the silence finally loses its grip.

7° Everything's Wrong

(ft: Super Creek)

The cafeteria roars around a quiet table. A familiar face, an outstretched hand, and a kindness that feels almost unbearable. Somewhere between pity and resentment, lunch grows cold.

8° Friend Stone

(ft: Silence Suzuka)

Above the track, away from the noise, two familiar silences meet. No promises, no questions about tomorrow. Just a bench, the fading light, and someone who understands the value of not having to explain.

9° Impossible Things

(ft: Symboli Rudolf)

The seasons change, and Tracen keeps moving. But beyond the track, new doors begin to open. Three paths, countless possibilities, and a future no longer defined by the starting line. For once, the finish isn't the end.

CYOS

· · ─── LINEUP ─── · ·

Opening Act

Maniquí - Dillom

· ── ·

Main Performances

The clock shows 4:00 PM, even if I break its hands.

(Spotify)

· · ─────── · ·

Cover Art

· · ─────── ·

Go on with your life, apart from me. Don’t pay any more to watch me lie. It’s always like this. And even as the years go by, we will remain strangers.