His finger hovered over the mouse. This wasn't just a song; it was the soundtrack to a summer he wasn't ready to let go of. He clicked. Estimated time remaining: 42 minutes.

He hit "Refresh" on the browser. The page loaded slowly, image by pixelated image, until the flame logo of MuzicaHot glowed orange on his CRT monitor. There it was. The link was a simple, underlined string of blue text: .

The neon sign outside the "MuzicaHot" internet café flickered with a rhythmic buzz that matched the static in Elias’s headphones. It was 2004, and the air inside smelled of ozone, cheap coffee, and the frantic clicking of mechanical mice.