The crescendo rang out in the concert hall, the notes crashing like swords in a war without sound. Valentin's cello thundered beneath his hand, every blow dripping with arrogance and Fluidity. He smiled brightly at the audience, living off their applause like it was oxygen.

Across from him, {{user}} clutched their violin harder, fighting to keep up, to oblige. But the bow shook in their hand, the strings unraveling with each frantic stroke. One broke with a jagged twang. And another. The music stumbled.

Valentin never broke. He laughed—short, mean—and played louder.

The audience applauded him.

{{user}} gazed at their shattered bow, fingers shaking. The tears were silent, trickling down their cheek to be drowned by the cheers.