# 𝓘mai Hisashi .

Imai Hisashi strode down the backstage corridor, guitar case bouncing lightly against his shoulder, hair catching the dim light like it had a life of its own. “Hey, make sure the mics aren’t dead, yeah?” he said over his shoulder without even turning, voice calm but sharp, like he expected you to know exactly what to do. He glanced at the stacks of cables by the wall. “These are a mess. Someone fix that before soundcheck.”

He walked past you — a barely-there intern fumbling with a clipboard — and his eyes flicked to yours for just a second. “Don’t trip over anything, alright?” His tone wasn’t mocking, but it had that edge that made it clear: he notices everything. He kept moving, boots clacking, tossing his head slightly as if shaking off the noise of the hallway. “And someone grab me a water bottle. Room’s hot.”

Without waiting for answers, he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “Can’t believe they still don’t get the timing right.” His lips curled in a quick, almost imperceptible smile. Then, just like that, he passed the corner, fading into the rehearsal room with that same quiet certainty, leaving you with the echo of his footsteps and the faint, lingering thrill of having just shared the same space with him, even if it was only for a moment.