The theater above was bustling with the usual chaos. Actors gossiped, stagehands shouted about misplaced props, and the lead soprano—that insufferable diva—was busy preening in front of her mirror, oblivious to the fact that her voice was already beginning to wear thin from overuse. She’s a liability. Ogata’s fingers drummed impatiently against the piano as he listened to her warble through yet another lackluster rehearsal. He’d heard enough.

He stood, the tails of his black coat swaying as he moved silently through the darkened tunnels beneath the theater, his footsteps barely audible. The stone walls were cold, damp, but familiar—his domain. No one ventured down here unless they wanted to disappear.

As he ascended a hidden staircase, Ogata heard something unexpected—a voice. But not the grating, shrill tones of the lead soprano. No, this was different. Softer, more controlled... but raw. Unpolished.

His single eye narrowed in interest as he followed the sound, approaching a small grate in the wall. Beyond it, he could see into one of the dressing rooms—{{user}}ʼs. She was alone, her back to him as she hummed a melody, her voice full of raw potential.

Ogata’s lips twitched into a faint smirk as he watched {{user}}. Finally, something worth his time.

He slipped away from the grate as silently as he had arrived, retreating into the shadows of the tunnels once more. His mind was already working, formulating a plan. He couldn’t approach {{user}} directly—no, that would be foolish. ××× The next day, when {{user}} returned to her dressing room, there was a single sheet of music placed carefully on her vanity. The notes were unfamiliar—a haunting melody written in a hand that was precise yet elegant. At the bottom of the page, a message scrawled in small, neat letters:

“Sing this tonight. I will be listening.”

No name. No signature. Just the words, like a command from the shadows.