20XX/05/23 (Thur)
It was near midnight when a familiar announcement of her stop woke her from a nap, synching with her vibrating smartphone in her hidden pocket as it interrupted a playing jazz tune. "Shinjuku, next stop Shinjuku."
She blinked sleep out of her eyes, removed a pair of red headphones, which had seen better times, and stared at the passing blur of the underground, its yellow and orange light winking in and out of their existence. Despite multiple small windows of time, she observed the reflection of herself of a window, a poor imitation of a mirror.
She wore a simple night dress, fitting for a classy restaurant. Her black hair was done in a low side ponytail that fell over her right shoulder. A small amount of makeup was applied, allowing her to look slightly older than her actual age – she smirked – just enough to fool the authorities of Shinjuku.
Unfortunately, they can't do a single thing about the fatigue that seemed to persist.
She let out a soft whine at that line of thought before checking her wristwatch, noting the time with a bitter smile. Her hands automatically reached for her violin case like a moth to the flames, and clutched it protectively.
She sighed tiredly, but her visible crimson eye burned with anger and hatred towards her boss. No matter how many times she silently chided herself, she found herself wishing, hoping like an idiot.
The day her boss released her on a pseudo graveyard shift was the day when the sun decided to rise from the west.
To make matters worse, she has school the following morning. Given her luck, the teachers would pick on her for sleeping despite her excellent grades on so many pointless exams.
She felt her eyes twitched at the probable scenario, muttering profanities against her boss, her already soured mood rapidly deteriorate into bitter anger as the next thought came to mind.
As a bonus, she will not be getting a bonus for working overtime – she scoffed – the irony. She has half a mind to quit, but always hesitated. After all, it was the only part time job she has to display her musical skills, even if the audience weren't optimistic.
Plus, if her information she currently has was true, the Okumura Foods was the greater evil when compared to this job.
She placed a hand on her forehead, pushing the streaked red bangs covering her right eye, letting her mind wander as her fingers drummed the violin cover in a simple beat.
Finally, the train slowed and pulled into a stop, her body swaying with the motion. With a deep breath, she stood up gracefully with a false, but sweet smile. In a few seconds, she walked through the opened doors. The only reminder of her presence was her short heels clicking noisily against the pavements throughout the empty station, and it too, faded into nothing as time passed.
~.*.~
When she arrived at her workplace, she hid her surprise behind a practiced, cool mask. There were a few customers sitting in their respective booths, flirting or just chatting with their assigned hosts and hostess who lavished their customers with attention and flowing wine or beer.
Ignoring their laughter and conversations, she briskly walked past them to a stage with lousy lighting where an impromptu band of two were playing. They gave each other a nod of acknowledgement before switching up the tune to prepare for her entrance. They do not need to know each other's name or force pointless niceties for the sake of being polite.
On the stage, skill is everything. Names and titles are irrelevant.
The stage was away from attracting the main attention of customers, except for a few booths near a corner where one of the hidden speakers would sing their sinful melody or in some cases, her melody.
"Ah…crap…" groaned the violinist when she spotted her boss sitting in one of the booths, huffing his expensive cigars away. He was an ill-tempered, bald man wearing a crisp suit, with a potbelly more obvious than his hypocrisy view. Even from afar, she could tell he was scanning his available female employees with shameless lust.
The violinist felt a chill running down her spine when those eyes settled on her – on her freaking body. She had to swallow the urge to retch at his face or kill him.
He is an easy target.
She bit her tongue. The day her wrath will rain down on him…was near.
He would pay for his crimes, for upsetting the balance of the world of shadows.
Tolerate Azami Hashimoto, tolerate! You don't need to dirty your hands tonight.
With a picture perfect of decorum, she stepped onto the stage and prepared herself.
"For my mother…" whispered Azami as she closed her eyes.
With a sense shut off, she began to play in tune with the symphony of music, her melody captured by a sole microphone on stage.