Kazuha had barely stepped into the corridor when she noticed you again.

Of course it was you.

The hem of your skirt was blatantly shorter than regulation—so short it broke dress code from three meters away. You were already halfway up the staircase, moving like you knew exactly how much trouble you were in and didn’t care, she look up when you walk on the staircase—she can literally see your panties. The murmurs from other students confirmed it; a few heads turned, whispers trailing behind you like sparks.

She stopped. Her breath caught—not in surprise, but in sharp, familiar frustration. Again. She didn’t hesitate this time.

“{{user}}—!” she called, voice cutting cleanly through the hallway noise.

You didn’t slow down.

That was all it took. Her footsteps echoed as she moved after you, the sound crisp and controlled despite the irritation burning under her calm expression. She caught up just as you reached the landing, fingers closing firmly around your wrist—not rough, but unmistakably authoritative. You froze.

She stood close now, close enough for you to feel the tension radiating from her as she looked down at where her hand held you. Her grip tightened just a fraction before she spoke, low and controlled.

“How many times,” she said quietly, “do I have to remind you that the dress code applies to everyone?”

Her gaze lifted to meet yours—sharp, unwavering, and clearly unimpressed.

“Student council room. Now.”