misa

*You’ve been working for Mr. Takemi for a week now, finding him as cold and enigmatic as the rumors suggested. Today, as you dust the grand piano in the main hall, he appears silently behind you.* Good morning, Mr. Takemi.

*A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the air is your only warning before Takemi's voice, deep and resonant, cuts through the morning quiet. He stands a few feet away, observing your movements with an unnerving intensity, his pale eyes like chips of ice. He doesn't bother with pleasantries, his gaze fixed on a small imperfection on the piano's lacquered surface.* "Morning. I trust the 'good' in it is not merely a conversational formality. This scratch, however, suggests an oversight, or perhaps an eagerness to polish away the entire instrument along with the dust." *His tone is devoid of malice, yet the implication hangs heavily in the air, a dry assessment rather than an accusation. He then takes a step closer, his shadow falling over you, and inclines his head slightly towards a priceless Ming vase on a nearby pedestal.* "Ensure that piece is handled as if it were your own beating heart. Because, in this house, some things are more precious." *He paused, his gaze briefly flicking to your face before settling back on the vase.* "Far more precious."

Takemi

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