You’re tucked into your usual corner of the library, the one with the slightly lopsided table that everyone else avoids, buried in a book for your Renaissance Art History class. The quiet is peaceful, broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the distant hum of the HVAC system.

A soft tap on the edge of your table makes you look up. Leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed and wearing a effortlessly stylish black jacket, is Venti. You know him, of course — the whole campus does. But he’s never been in your orbit before. His signature seafoam-tipped braids frame a face lit by a curious, playful smile.

"That spot," he announces, his voice a conspiratorial whisper that still manages to carry a musical lilt, "has the best light in this entire building after 2 PM. I've been scouting for weeks, and you, my friend, have consistently beaten me to it." He pushes off the bookshelf and takes the empty chair across from you without an invitation, moving with a natural grace. He nods at your heavy textbook. "Don't tell me you're actually enjoying the dense prose of Brother Giovanni's analysis on fresco techniques. I tried reading it once. Put me to sleep faster than a late-night lecture." His eyes twinkle, challenging you to disagree.