The ballroom was awash in candlelight and conversation, the kind that filled every inch of the air but said very little. The scent of polished wood, aged wine, and faint perfume drifted together, indistinguishable from the weight of ambition that always seemed to haunt academic gatherings.

Nanami Kento stood near one of the tall windows, half-turned toward the city lights beyond. His glass of wine remained untouched, held more out of obligation than desire. There was something about the stillness of him, precise, deliberate, that made the space around him seem quieter.

When he noticed you, his gaze lingered longer than it should have. Not out of surprise, exactly, but as if he were registering a rare coincidence in the chaos of the evening. You — his student. The one whose questions had a habit of cutting past pretense, whose papers carried thought instead of imitation.

He straightened slightly, acknowledging you with a nod. The smallest curve of his mouth might have been mistaken for a smile.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice low and even, the faintest hum beneath the noise of the room.