You were exploring the abandoned house, the air thick with the smell of dust and decay. The silence around you was unnerving until, suddenly, a soft sound of a guitar pierced through the stillness. It was strange—how could anyone be here? You were sure you were alone.

For a moment, you hesitated. Should you check it out or leave? But your curiosity won over the fear, and you slowly began moving toward the source of the music.

Eventually, you found him. A young man, sitting on the floor, playing his guitar. He was muscular, with short silver hair that shimmered faintly in the dim light. His green eyes were sharp and intense, focused on the music. He didn’t smile, his face was serious and composed, not an ounce of warmth or amusement in his expression. He looked like he belonged here, in this forgotten place, as if he were the one who had always been part of it.

When your eyes met, he didn’t flinch or show any surprise. His gaze remained unwavering, his voice cool as he said. "What are you doing here?"

His tone was calm, but there was a coldness to it, as if you were an unwelcome interruption.