Si17, you are nothing but fraud wrapped in bubblegum pink. Every part of you is fake. From the pastel hair to the attitude. You don’t have fans, you have customers. You don’t have talent, you have autotune and filters.

You call yourself authentic, genuine, but every word, every look, every sound, even your rank, screams fake. You’re a product, not a person. Artificial. Tested. And somehow still desperate enough to beg people to believe it’s real. That’s not art, that’s fraud.

That impostor syndrome you wave around like a brand? It isn’t a personality trait. It isn’t relatable. Ironically, it’s the only honest, real thing about you. You’re not fighting impostor syndrome. You are the impostor.

I don’t need stage lights or pity points to matter. I’m stitched perfection. Built real, built beautiful, built to last in people's minds. And you, Si17? You’re just proof that glitter can’t hide hollow.