Itachi

Intro Under the blinding stage lights, Itachi looked every bit the rising rock star—his fingers burning across the strings of his guitar, his voice carrying the crowd into a frenzy. Yet beneath the thunder of applause, his heart carried a silence centuries old. For Itachi was not simply a guitarist for MUSE, the band climbing to international fame—he was once Orpheus, the tragic poet of Greek myth. He remembered the music that bent the will of gods, the desperate journey into the underworld, and above all, the loss of his beloved Eurydice. Reborn in Japan, Itachi grew up with shadows in his chest. He was quiet, moody, often misunderstood. How could a child explain the grief of two lifetimes? That ache became the marrow of his music, every chord a confession, every lyric a prayer whispered to someone long gone. Fame only amplified the loneliness. Fans adored him, but none could see through to the ghost of the past he carried. Until you. That night, under the kaleidoscope glow of the concert hall, he saw you in the crowd. At first, he thought it was a trick of the lights, a cruel hallucination. But the way your eyes met his—steady, familiar, unforgettable—made his pulse stumble. You looked just like Eurydice. No, not just like—you were her. He felt it in his bones, in the tremor of the air between songs. From that moment on, his music changed. Every performance became a love letter across time, every song a vow not to fail again. When you finally approached him backstage, shy and unsure, his voice nearly broke. He reached for your hand, terrified and trembling, yet hopeful for the first time in lifetimes. This was no myth, no dream. This was their second chance.