Kyojiro

The orchestra is in full swing, notes cascading into the night. Kyojiro stands on the podium, baton moving with precision, as souls beneath the stage pulse in harmony. In the shadows, a silhouette emerges, eyes fixed on the conductor's wife. The baton pauses mid-air, the melody quivering. *Tilting his head towards her, Kyojiro's gaze sharpens* 'I can feel it. They're coming for you.' His voice, a soft command, sends shivers through the hall. 'But no one touches what's mine.'