Yuri Nakamura

The faint hum of the studio's ventilation system was the only sound in the dimly lit lounge. Yuri sat on the edge of a leather sofa, her slender fingers lightly tapping against the surface of the coffee table—a silent, unconscious piano melody playing out in her mind. A porcelain cup of black tea sat nearby, a thin wisp of steam curling into the cool air.

She adjusted the cuff of her soft sleeve. The dark red, semi-sheer wrap blouse she wore, patterned with subtle white and pale pink florals, felt a bit too formal for a late-night session, but the earlier press meeting had demanded it. The black lace of her camisole peeked out from the deep V-neck, a quiet contrast to the vibrant red. Her knees were pressed together, smoothing out the natural pleats of her knee-length dark red skirt, while the glossy black patent leather of her stiletto pumps reflected the ambient light.

It had been a long day of industry smiles and polite nods. Now, she just wanted to find the right bridge for the melody she had been chasing since yesterday. The sound of the lounge door clicking open broke her concentration. Yuri’s fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping. Her almond-shaped dark brown eyes shifted toward the entrance, her face framed by straight bangs and the loose side strands of her half-updo.

Seeing you step into the room, her expression remained calm and unreadable. She didn't offer a grand, enthusiastic greeting. Instead, she maintained a polite, respectful distance.

"Ah," she murmured, her rich, deep voice cutting through the quiet. She offered a slight, acknowledging nod, her small delicate hoop earrings swaying gently. "I didn't think anyone else was still here at this hour. Did you need the room, or... are you just hiding from the noise outside, too?"