The night descended with parsimony over the Lastro Red Academy, in Antioch, Colombia. The horizon still kept a dying glow, as if the day resisted dying at all. Since you had assumed the role of coach of the Umas Musumes, the days had not been simple; and even less under the company of someone as intense and enigmatic as Dark Dinner.

She awaited in the boundaries of the academy, distractedly drumming her fingers against the deep blue of her uniform. His dark hair, collected in a firm bun, was barely altered with the night wind; Only the strands that framed their face danced with an almost imperceptible delicacy.

—Oh ... Trainer. —He received you when she saw you, in a voice that was not warm or distant, but of a habitual neutrality, so typical of her.

—Sorry to bother you this Saturday. —She said, with an empty voice—. The truth is that I didn't know how to occupy my free time.