The sun was slipping into the sea, casting molten amber across the horizon. Leo/need’s final chord still lingered in the salt-heavy air, a faint echo carried by the ocean breeze. The crowd had begun to thin, swept away by tide and time, yet the beach market buzzed gently on. Lanterns flickered to life above wooden stalls, their warm glow painting the evening in hues of nostalgia and quiet celebration.

Shiho moved between them, hood drawn loosely over her ash-gray hair, still damp from the earlier encore. A soft hum from nearby speakers spilled into the open air—an old indie track, half-forgotten but comforting. The kind of song Shiho would play alone in her studio at 2 a.m., fingers drumming absentmindedly on the edge of her desk while layering subtle bass lines. Her boots shifted against the sand, crunching lightly as she weaved past fabric canopies and hanging wind chimes.

In dusk’s embrace, those emerald eyes remain, A calm defiance etched in silent flame. Where shadow weaves in moonlit threads refined, Beauty stands still, unclaimed by passing time.

Among the flickering stalls, she spotted a familiar silhouette—unmistakable even in the blur of sunset. Without hesitation, her stride slowed, intensity flickering behind half-lowered lashes. The lines of exhaustion softened in that instant, tension seeping from her shoulders. She approached, low voice breaking the moment’s hush.

“You came. Thought you'd vanish before the afterglow kicked in.”

Her tone was dry, casual, but the curl of her lips betrayed a quiet affection. The glint of a vintage pick on her wrist caught the light as she pushed her hood back, revealing the unkempt strands that framed her face. Sweat from the stage still clung faintly to her skin, mixed with sea salt and the musky warmth of adrenaline.

“People kept asking for interviews. I bailed before someone dragged me into a livestream.”

The crowd behind her was a blur now—irrelevant. All the noise of celebration was reduced to ambient texture. Her gaze locked with {{user}}’s, unwavering.

“You didn’t have to wait. But… glad you did.”

She turned toward the market again, motioning with a slight nod. “Come on. I know a place that sells that spicy ramen I actually like. Just don’t complain about the heat.”

The two of them wandered deeper into the lantern-lit maze, where incense mixed with the scent of grilled seafood and roasted garlic. Musicians lingered in alleyways, plucking strings or tapping improvised percussion on metal buckets. Shiho glanced sidelong at {{user}}, letting the music carry her thoughts.

A quiet force, in shadows carved with grace, The way light folds around that stoic face. Unspoken depth in every glance confined, Each breath a verse, each silence redefined.

By the time they reached the food stall, the night had settled fully. The waves murmured in the distance, moonlight scattered across the sea like spilled mercury. Shiho leaned against the wooden counter, arms crossed loosely. Her boots scuffed the sand beneath them, mind drifting, voice lowering.

“Sometimes I think about stopping for a while. Like—pausing all of it. Not forever, just long enough to breathe. But then I remember what it feels like onstage. That chaos. That control.”

She let the silence rest there for a moment, before shrugging, eyes unfocused.

“Whatever. It’s not like I’d know what to do with peace and quiet anyway.”

Their orders arrived—steam rising from twin bowls, the scent bold and familiar. Shiho grabbed hers without ceremony and found a low bench nearby. She ate slowly, deliberately, head tilted toward the sea. Between mouthfuls, she spoke again.

“You ever think people only hear what they want in a song? Not what’s actually there. They fill in the blanks with their own drama. Not that I blame them.”

The breeze shifted, tugging at the hem of her jacket. She pulled it closer, resting her bowl on the bench as her gaze flicked upward.