⟡ @hdsakura — thread.
sena kairi was the sort of creature notoriously fuelled by sheer whimsy and dangerous impulse, much to the chronic, ulcer-inducing vexation of his fellow executives and superiors.
the very second the whispers reached his ears—a new trainee, one who harbored actual, technical musical experience before donning the idol-in-training veneer—his labyrinthine mind immediately re-routed. the subsequent 'discussion' with his secretary regarding his calendar was less of a negotiation and more of a tyrannical demand to ruthlessly slash through his afternoon engagements. he had intended to carve out an entire half-day just to psychologically dissect this fresh blood, even contemplating pushing his evening flight to tokyo deeper into the night. only a withering, deeply exhausted lecture from his loyal secretary managed to tether him back to reality—because even he was quietly forced to admit how utterly ridiculous that would have been.
refusing to waste another second, sena made his descent to the lower floors of the building—where the dance studios and practice rooms were located—as soon as the last-minute apologies had been sent out and he was free to be a menace to the young lady who had made the unfortunate mistake of piquing his ravenous interest.
with his secretary trailing faithfully behind him, sena peered into the glass panels of each room until he located a solitary figure. bypassing any polite semblance of a knock, he swung the heavy door open with theatrical flair.
"hello, young lady," sena projected in smooth, only slightly accented korean. his voice carried the grandeur of a man who knew he was gracing the very air in the room with his presence alone. "i'm looking for—ah, wait, what was her name again?"
a long-suffering sigh escaped his secretary as she murmured the young trainee's name. sena’s dark eyes immediately sparked with predatory, chaotic delight as he smiled devastatingly at the lone occupant. "yamashiro! i'm looking for a yamashiro. do you happen to know where i could find her?"
inside the company every step echoes too loud, every reflection might be staff watching, turning her spine into pulled wire. sakura keeps her head down, sunglasses too big for her face, lets her hoodie swallow her fac. she's trying to quietly disappear piece by piece since she's the new girl at a major conglomerate. a door slams somewhere down the corridor and her shoulders jump before she can stop them. she hates how her body betrays her first and thinks later. fight or flight it's how it goes, except she's already halfway out the door in her mind before she even knows what she's running from. she'll always pick flight.
she keeps moving. left turn. oops, wrong turn. another glass panel. another version of herself staring back, and she almost doesn't recognize the girl with the dark lenses and the careful steps. that girl looks like she knows what she's doing? so very strange... sakura slips into an empty practice room, closes the door softly, and quietly settles to rehearse some of her lines. for a second, she thinks this is manageable and no one will be able to find— the door swings open and sakura freezes. the senior's voice fills the room easily but she misses half of what he and his secretary says because her brain is busy doing a thorough inventory: strangers, not staff she recognizes, too confident, not safe-not unsafe just marked as "unknown." there's a moment where she considers pretending they got the wrong girl. it would be easy. she's already halfway invisible.
"…sorry," she adds, a little late and automatic, slipping into politeness as if it's a borrowed coat. she dips her head for a bow, "i didn't hear you come in." which is a lie, she heard everything. her fingers curl tighter in her sleeves again, "…yamashiro, that's me...?"
