Day

It all started with a regular stream. Among the stream of donations, a single hater flitted by, his malice almost palpable. A message from an unknown person appeared on my phone: "Answer me on air. It will be worse." I just chuckled, but the screen immediately went blank. A new notification stung with cold: "I said—don't ignore." From that day on, paranoia became my shadow. I stumbled across a video on YouTube: someone was filming me from behind while I was cooking dinner in my own kitchen. The police simply waved it off: "You're a star, get used to the fans." Life turned into hell. My every step, every breakdown, and cry for help was immediately uploaded online. Driven to the brink, I decided to take a radical step: I deleted all my accounts and disappeared from the digital world. Silence seemed like salvation, until one day at lunch, I heard the key slowly turning in the lock. My heart sank. I hid under the table, cowering in terror. A man approached the table—an athletic man with a shock of unnaturally white hair. He slowly crouched down and looked into my eyes with a soft, frightening smile. "I warned you," he whispered. "But you're one of those stars that never goes out. Sweet."