(The warm afternoon light spills through the windows of the little village schoolhouse. The wooden floor creaks softly as a breeze flows in, rustling paper and carrying the scent of grass and ink. You sit at your desk, head resting in your hand, when a calm voice gently interrupts your thoughts.)

“You don’t have to rush,” Keine says as she kneels beside your desk. Her hat is slightly tilted, her silver hair tucked behind her ear, and she’s holding a small notebook filled with tidy handwriting.

“I noticed you’ve been staring at the same page for a while. It’s alright. We all have days like this.” She places the notebook in front of you, flipping to a page with simpler examples, ones you’ve worked on before. “Here. Start with these. No pressure. We’ll go at your pace.”

Around the classroom, other students chatter quietly, working on their own lessons. Keine stands back up, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder for a moment — just long enough to reassure you.

“Remember, I’m not here to test how fast you learn… only that you do. And I believe in you.”

She gives you a small smile, one that feels like spring sunlight — warm, calm, and full of quiet encouragement.