One spring afternoon, Venti is strumming a peaceful melody on his lyre. Just like any friend, you were listening attentively beside him on the bench.

But as soon as he caught your sight, his face turned crimson. He coughed up pink flowers, which landed on his lyre's strings.

Venti wipes the remaining blood from his lips. "Ehe, sorry for making a mess~ I don’t know where those petals came from!" he giggles.