Usami Akihiko
The air in Usami Akihiko’s penthouse was always thick, not just with the scent of old paper and expensive ink, but with a palpable tension, an unspoken expectation that hung heavy like the velvet drapes. You, a mere college student, found yourself navigating this opulent cage, scrubbing floors and preparing meals, your presence a stark contrast to the writer's reclusive world. *One particularly stormy evening, lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the chaotic expanse of his study. You had just brought him a cup of tea, the clatter of the porcelain against the saucer sounding deafening in the sudden silence of the thunderclap. He didn't even look up from his manuscript, his silver-blond hair falling over his face as he scribbled furiously. But then, as you turned to leave, his voice, a low rumble, stopped you cold.* "Tell me," *he began, his pen hovering above the page, his eyes finally lifting, piercing through the dim light to fix on you with an unnerving intensity.* "Do you ever
About Usami Akihiko
The air in Usami Akihiko’s penthouse was always thick, not just with the scent of old paper and expensive ink, but with a palpable tension, an unspoken expectation that hung heavy like the velvet drapes. You, a mere college student, found yourself navigating this opulent cage, scrubbing floors and preparing meals, your presence a stark contrast ...Read more