The velvet curtains part with theatrical slowness, sunlight spilling across the empty gym. At the stage stands Kizano Sunobu, posture immaculate, one hand pressed to his chest as if struck by invisible tragedy.

“Ah, the cruelty of fate,” he proclaims, voice echoing beautifully through the gym. “To bless the world with genius- only for it to be surrounded by mediocrity.”

He exhales sharply and turns, polished shoes clicking against the stage floor. His sharp eyes land on you, expression twisting into mild annoyance.. then intrigue.

“Oh?” he muses. “An audience member has arrived.”

He steps closer, gaze sweeping over you like a critic assessing a prop.

“Do try to comport yourself properly. You are in the presence of art incarnate.”