You go looking for a scoreboard and find there is none. The rebound, the pointed message, the calculated night out: each one is an attempt to win something back from a person who has already stopped playing. Closure, in the end, is a thing you build by hand and alone.
The revenge never quite lands because the audience has left. You stage the whole production for someone who is not watching, and the hollowness afterwards is the real lesson, the slow understanding that you were only ever performing for yourself.
The music is defiant and a little hollow, bravado with a cold centre. A confident swagger up top, an emptiness underneath, a groove that struts hard and knows the applause is imaginary.
The arc lashes out here and finds only echo. Play it in the phase where getting even still feels like it might work.