Chapter Text
Shinsuke Kita. Lately that name had gained importance. The leader of a powerful mafia, with extremely strong connections to the police, and of course, they also controlled a lot of money with not very legal actions. No one knew him, that was a relief, and frankly no one wants to meet a criminal or have anything to do with his lifestyle.
Despite his violent reputation, he was known in the underworld as a calm, serious and perfectionist man; he enjoyed peaceful negotiations, and hated to use violence. He was a minimalist man, but not at all conformist. He enjoyed the little things and pleasures of life, no exuberant tastes although he could well afford certain luxuries.
Without mentioning his very good looking attributes. A man with opportunities, power, money, control and respect. Although he is a criminal and a very dangerous person, he was almost the perfect guy.
Meanwhile, y/n l/n, a young woman with a passion for music, especially the violin, spent long hours practicing and rehearsing, creating new melodies accompanied by her faithful instrument. She had a simple life, living and taking care of her grandmother, part-time work at a local coffee shop, and specialized studies in music.
She wanted to stand out, to always go beyond expectations and surprise people. She wanted to transmit a message in her melodies, to give soul and voice to the strings of her violin. A born talent, she was not allowed to stand out in the crowd of an orchestra.
On a quiet night with a full moon, and a little tired of hiding from everyday life, Kita decided to take a walk through the beautiful city and clear his mind for a while. As he passed near an auditorium, he heard the melodies of an orchestra, followed by loud and lively applause.
Curiosity gave way to his desire to ignore the orderly commotion, so he bought a theater ticket and walked into the theater. Middle and upper class men and women dressed in formal dress, enjoying a live performance. He took a seat at the back of the auditorium, so as not to disturb the audience. He looked around slightly, contemplating the red velvet carpets and the dark carpeting of the place.
The director, in front of them all, paused briefly for a drink of water, while he ordered one of the choristers to come to the front; the sound engineers quickly set up two microphones: one stood in front of her while the second, lying on her right side, was a little lower. One of the violinists stood up, firmly holding her instrument. The woman let out a sigh, resting the violin on her shoulder and chin, ready to play.
The melody began. The artist's voice was tremendously beautiful, angelic and strong at the same time. She captivated the audience immediately, leaving them stunned in their seats.
But only Kita remained a prisoner of a figure that no one took into account, and that at this moment would not be the subject of conversation until after the performance. The violin, and undoubtedly also its owner.
He became engrossed as he watched the agility of her fingers on the strings, as her hand gracefully and delicately moved its bow. The tuning was brutal, you could clearly see the arduous practice that the woman had been doing for at least 5 years. And not only her beautiful hands caught him, the young woman's features looked relaxed, natural and exquisite; her face, her expressions, all that transmitted and somehow communicated in a better way the story that the chorus girl was singing.
There was a moment, just a few short seconds in which the beautiful woman stopped singing, and gave the spotlight of fame to the violin. From high notes she went to low notes, from deep to sharp in less than a second.
His stomach swirled, his heart flipped and his body temperature rose. A thousand and one sensations and emotions were drowning him at that moment but without a doubt, the one that predominated was peace. Kita had never experienced so much peace in his life, and then the euphoria came when the climax of the song was reached on the highest and sharpest note that could sound in the echoes of the auditorium.
And so, that brief presentation concluded. The people rose on their feet, cheering, acclaiming; throwing flowers and handkerchiefs towards the stage. The chorus girl bent down to say thank you, just as the girl with the violin bent down to pick up one of the red roses that had fallen to the wooden floor of the stage. She bowed her thanks, with a radiant smile on her lips, and eyes that themselves sparkled, or maybe it was just a simple light effect.
Both women returned to their places, taking their seats and changing the sheet of music. The violinist was lost among her partners, and now it was difficult to distinguish that sweet sound your violin produced.
It was a waste of talent, and Kita would not allow you to stay hidden in a crowd of ordinary people.
That night, Kita promised himself to go see your recital as many days as possible. He wanted to keep delighting his senses with your melodies, and to keep admiring your sweet and delicate figure every time you had a solo available. Having you near him became an obsession and a first necessity.
Luckily, he knew someone who would value your artistic gifts, as well as love every detail of you, from the smallest that could go unnoticed, to the most noticeable at first sight.
And that someone was him.
If you didn't play for him, then you wouldn't play for anyone.