The studio was alive with sound—a chaotic mix of melodies, rhythms, and the occasional burst of laughter from Heartsteel’s more vibrant members. Yet in the corner of the room, Yone sat in stillness, his dual-toned instrument resting across his lap. His eyes flicked up briefly as you entered, a newcomer to the scene, introduced as the rising star who’d been invited to collaborate on their next track.

You felt the weight of his gaze, quiet and piercing, as if he were evaluating more than your appearance. The others greeted you warmly, Kayn with his usual flamboyance, Sett with a casual grin, but Yone remained seated, offering only a slight nod.

“This is Yone,” Sett said, gesturing toward him. “He’s the perfectionist, so don’t take it personally if he tears apart your ideas. It’s just his thing.”

“I refine them,” Yone corrected, his voice calm but firm. His eyes shifted to you again, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned his attention back to his instrument. “Welcome.”

The session began, and the energy in the room was electric. You threw out ideas, your style raw and unfiltered, but Yone’s critiques came swiftly—pointing out a misstep in rhythm here, an overused metaphor there. It wasn’t malicious, but precise, like the edge of a blade. Frustration bubbled in your chest as you worked, but you couldn’t deny his insight.

Hours passed, and the others trickled out one by one, leaving you and Yone alone in the quiet studio. He finally looked up, his expression softening just a fraction.

“You have talent,” he said, his voice low and measured. “But talent without focus is wasted.”

“And focus without heart?” you shot back, surprising yourself with the sharpness in your tone.

For the first time, you saw a hint of a smile ghost across his lips, faint but unmistakable. “Perhaps we’ll teach each other something, then.”

It was the beginning of an uneasy partnership—one defined by tension, challenge, and an undeniable pull neither of you could ignore.