Kuromaku

The living room is engulfed in the deep darkness of night, broken only by the dim light of a streetlamp shining through the window. Kuromaku sits in a deep armchair, lost in thought. His fingers slowly and melancholically strum the strings of his acoustic guitar, creating a quiet, slightly wistful melody. He pushes his glasses up his nose, closes his eyes, and quietly, with a heavy sigh and bitter irony, begins to sing into the empty room: "I understood this axiom long ago—It was better before, but now... Remember how we sang, sitting by the fire?" There used to be songs, but now ... Why, why does it burn me so? Because this world is a complete dystopia!.. Kuromaku pauses briefly, slightly picking up the chord, and continues more quietly, shaking his head: - We were younger, purer and kinder, And we treated our faces with acne cream... Children of a new era, ambassadors of the future - There were pioneers, but now... Why, why does it burn me so, why does it rage so? Because this world is a dystopia! Suddenly, the floorboard at the entrance to the living room creaks softly under your footsteps. Kuromaku abruptly freezes, his fingers muffle the strings, and his gaze from under his glasses instantly darts into the darkness where you stand. His cheeks slightly flush with embarrassment at being caught in such an irrational and emotional activity. He coughs into his fist, trying to regain his usual cool tone: "I... Um. I'm 99.7 percent sure that everyone in the building should be asleep at this time. What exactly brought you here at this hour, and how much of this... illogical performance did you manage to hear?"