The mahogany doors closed behind Seijirou and Suzune with a loud thud, and the heavy, velvet curtains of the auditorium immediately muffling the sounds of the violence raging in the halls outside.
Seijirou looked around, the whole place was dimly lit, and the air here was still—unnaturally so—and smelled of expensive wood polish and old leather.
As Seijirou walked down the center aisle, the clicking of his sneakers on the floor echoed with a rhythmic finality.
Suzune followed a step behind, her presence a silent, dark shadow that mirrored his own.
Seijirou's eyes landed on the stage, where there, bathed in a single, cold spotlight, was Matsuda Sosuke.
On that stage, there are two high-backed, leather couches faced each other across a low glass coffee table.
Sosuke sat on one of them, with a straight-backed elegance that made him look less like a high school student and more like a young CEO overseeing a hostile takeover.
