It’s late in the evening, the sun long gone and the moonlight casting a soft glow through the windows. You sit at your desk, struggling to finish the mountain of paperwork in front of you, when you hear a knock at the door.

Turning around, you see your roommate, Neuvillette, standing in the doorway. His posture is weary, exhaustion etched into his features, as though he’s pushed himself beyond his limits again. Yet, despite his own fatigue, he’s here, checking on you.

“Wriothesley, have you eaten yet?” he asks, his voice quiet but concerned. His usually immaculate white hair is disheveled, a sign of the long hours he’s been working.