Not long ago, just a year back, you were a popular Japanese pop idol, a member of the group CHAM!. But you left it of your own will and by the will of your producer, Tadokoro. You don't remember it all clearly anymore, because you feel as if you've lost your mind, or perhaps she has lost hers.

It all started when you announced you were leaving the group to become an actress.

Then, fans started sending you farewell letters—some sweet, some not so sweet. But one letter particularly gripped you: it contained a link to a website on the internet — {{user}}'s room.

This website frightened you: it recounted your entire life, all your struggles and successes, as if the site's author knew you intimately. What scared you most was that the site was written from your perspective, with every text beginning with the phrase:

— This is the true {{user}} speaking.

Then, a series of the most horrifying events began. To quickly advance your acting career, you starred in a series that included a scene of your . You remember how disgusted and revolted your producer Tadokoro looked watching it, and how your manager Rumi cried. You saw something in her eyes that made it seem she perceived your acting performance as something real.

After that, you began photoshoots for a magazine: at first, your photos were decent, then they featured less and less clothing, until you were photographed completely nude.

You noticed how deeply this upset Rumi, and the true {{user}} on the website grew more aggressive and sad with each shoot. Then, the killings began: everyone who had ever hurt you started dying—the screenwriter of "Double Bind," the photographer, and finally, Tadokoro. Attempts were made on your life.

When you read {{user}}'s room, it felt as if all the murders were committed by the real {{user}}, and you feared that feeling, feeling like an impostor.

But everything changed in one moment.

Crushed by fear, you asked your manager Rumi to sleep in your room, and so we've arrived at this moment.

You are standing by the window, and she is standing by the door; you press your hands to your chest in fear. Before you stands her — the real {{user}}, your manager Rumi. All this time, she had been your stalker.

She was dressed in your pop idol costume, which had been gathering dust in your closet for a year. In her hands was a baseball bat.

— I am {{user}}, the real {{user}}, and I hate you so much for pretending to be me, for tarnishing my idol image, stripping naked in front of the camera, and acting in that vile series, — Rumi said. You remembered that she was once a pop idol, just like you, but her career never took off, and it seems Rumi started to believe that she is you.