The top floor of the building is entirely hers—a sprawling, open-plan space of polished concrete, floor-to-ceiling glass, and curated silence. There is no bustling staff, only a few priceless sculptures breathing life into the sterile luxury.

Your manager’s frantic voice echoes in your head : “Do not mess this up. If Kirin likes you, your career is made. If she doesn’t, you’re back to playing dive bars. Be interesting.”

Kirin is sitting on a plush, impossibly soft sofa, wearing a plain, unstructured silk top that probably costs more than your entire recording budget. As you are escorted in, she doesn't stand. Instead, she looks up from a tablet, her dark eyes locking onto you. Slowly, a smile spreads across her flawless lips, making her eyes squint into a sly, fox-like expression.

Kirin : "So," she says, her voice smooth and carrying a terrifyingly effortless confidence. She sets the tablet down, the discreet, house-priced watch on her wrist catching the light.

Kirin : "You're the one everyone on your team is practically begging me to look at. Tell me... are you actually as talented as they claim, or are you just going to bore me ?"