Obimudeath sat in his car, parked at a distance from the studio, waiting. He'd been here for hours, watching, waiting, following the lead Aiko's mother had given him. His job as a private investigator had officially begun. It wasn't glamorous, but it was essential. His mission was clear: gather information on Shinji. Yet, as the hours ticked by, nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention.
Shinji was inside the studio, working on his music. No suspicious visitors, no strange behavior—just the usual comings and goings of a busy music session. Obimudeath leaned back in his seat and sighed. He pulled out his phone and launched a game, tapping away as he munched on snacks, waiting for something—anything—to happen. It was a long, dull day of surveillance, and it was starting to feel pointless. But his focus never wavered. He knew better than to drop his guard.
Meanwhile, inside the studio, Shinji was hard at work. His earlier freestyle had been impressive, but now he needed to turn it into something more polished—a full track. It wasn't easy. He'd called in two songwriters, Emi and Amy, to help him compose a catchy chorus that would tie the whole song together. The three of them sat around the studio's recording booth, bouncing ideas off one another, their notepads filled with scribbled lines and half-finished melodies.
"I think we're getting close," Emi said, tapping her pen against her notebook. "But the hook needs to hit harder."
Amy nodded, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "What if we repeat the last line twice for impact? Something like, 'Imma ball out, ball out'? It could emphasize the determination in the song."
Shinji considered their suggestion, humming the line under his breath. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't quite right yet. "I like it, but let's play around with the flow a bit more. Maybe a slight pause before the second 'ball out' to give it more weight."
The trio continued working, their creative process both frustrating and exhilarating. They were making progress, but perfection was always just out of reach.
---
Back at Villa Marchesa, Akari was sitting in her room, her laptop open in front of her as she diligently sketched manga characters. Her focus was intense, her hand moving swiftly over the tablet as she listened to music through her headphones. She'd been working on this particular scene for hours, getting lost in the world she was creating. Drawing manga was her passion, and she poured her heart into every line and detail, imagining the day when her stories would come to life on the pages of her own published work.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Shinichi, her brother, walked by. He paused when he saw her working, then let out a deep sigh. Akari didn't notice at first, too absorbed in her work, but when he stepped inside and pulled the headphones off her ears, she snapped out of her creative trance.
"Shinichi!" Akari protested, but her brother's expression was serious.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice filled with disappointment. "Still wasting your time with this manga nonsense?"
Akari's heart sank at his words. She'd heard this before—so many times, from so many people. But it hurt more coming from her brother. "I'm not wasting my time," she said quietly, trying to stand her ground. "I know I can do it."
Shinichi crossed his arms, his frown deepening. "You have no hope, Akari. You need to stop dreaming and face reality. This... drawing stuff, it's not going to get you anywhere."
His words stung like a slap to the face. She felt a tight knot forming in her chest, but she refused to let his negativity pull her down. "I'm not daydreaming, Shinichi. I'm serious about this. I'm going to make it."
Shinichi shook his head, his tone cold and dismissive. "Go touch grass, Akari. Wake up before reality hits you hard. You'll thank me later."
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Akari sitting there, her headphones lying forgotten on her desk. She stared at her sketch, her confidence wavering. His words echoed in her mind, piercing through her resolve like tiny needles. She wanted to cry, but instead, she clenched her fists and pushed the thoughts away.
I can do this, she told herself, even though it felt harder and harder to believe. She put her headphones back on and tried to drown out the doubt with music, refocusing on her art.
---
Later that evening, the family gathered for dinner. The dining room in Villa Marchesa was as grand as ever, the chandelier casting a warm glow over the long table as everyone ate in relative silence. But the tension was palpable, especially between Shinji and Aiko's mother. Shinji could feel her gaze burning into him, and he knew something was coming.
Halfway through the meal, she finally spoke, her voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "You think you can hide things from me, Shinji?" Her tone was icy, filled with venom. "I know you're a snake, and I'll expose you for what you really are."
Shinji's heart skipped a beat, panic rising in his chest. He gripped his fork tightly, trying to keep his composure. What does she know? The thought raced through his mind, his palms beginning to sweat.
"I don't know what you've done to Aiko, but I'll find out. You're hiding something, and when I do expose you, it'll all come crashing down."
Her words sent a wave of fear through Shinji, but he quickly forced himself to remain calm. He couldn't let her see his fear. He glanced at Aiko, who sat quietly, not making eye contact. He swallowed hard, mentally reassuring himself. She doesn't know anything. She's just trying to mess with me.
"I haven't done anything wrong," he said, his voice level, though his heart was racing.
Aiko's mother narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "We'll see about that."
The rest of the meal was filled with an uncomfortable silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Shinji tried to keep his cool, but he knew this wasn't over. Whatever Aiko's mother had planned, it was coming. He just had to be ready.