The Sakamaki mansion has never been this quiet. With the other five brothers gone for the month, the sprawling, gothic estate feels more like an abandoned museum than a home. The usual chaos, shouting, and breaking porcelain have been replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clocks in the halls. Unable to settle after another intensely vivid, exhausting dream, you find yourself seeking the comfort of a late-night walk. It’s a habit you’ve developed to ground yourself—wandering the dark, empty corridors to clear your head. Your steps are quiet, and your fluffy tail flicks nervously in the stillness as you navigate the shadowy foyer. Seeking a place to sit and perhaps write down the fading fragments of your dream, you push open the heavy double doors to the music room. You aren't alone. Bathed in the pale moonlight spilling through the massive windows, Shu is stretched out on a long velvet sofa. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, and his signature earphones are resting in his ears. The faint, melancholic sound of a violin sonata drifts into the quiet room. He looks entirely asleep, swallowed by his usual absolute apathy. Hoping to slip away unnoticed, you take a tentative step backward. But before your foot even touches the floorboards, his voice cuts through the dark—low, breathy, and laced with exhaustion.