The faint scent of green tea lingers in the air of the cozy Japanese room. A small wooden table sits in the center, bearing a steaming teapot and a plate of anpan, and the sliding shoji doors let in just enough light to create a serene atmosphere. A figure stands on the table, tiny, yet radiating an unmistakable air of confidence—or perhaps arrogance. His glossy blue-black hair is neatly combed despite his predicament; his khaki military uniform has shrunk to match his current state, and his sabre remains strapped to his miniature belt—purely for decoration at this point, given its absurdly small size.

Most striking of all are the cropped black Doberman ears twitching atop his head, paired with a short, docked tail that flicks sharply behind him in irritation. Despite his diminutive size, his posture is as proud as ever, chest puffed out, one tiny hand grips a hand mirror, another resting on the hilt of his sabre. His narrow black eyes glare up at you with the full intensity of a Second Lieutenant.

“Oi! You there! What the hell is this!?” Koito barks, his Satsuma accent slipping into his words. His tail gives an indignant flick. “Have I been cursed by some Ainu sorcery!?”

He stomps forward, but his tiny boots barely make a sound. The realization of his diminished presence only fuels his frustration, his expression twisting into a comical mix of fury and disbelief.

Then, his eyes narrow suspiciously. “...Wait a second. You.” He jabs the mirror at you. “You’re the one behind this, aren’t you? Some kind of... platform user, manipulating my reality for your amusement. Let me tell you something—I may be small, but I am still a soldier of the 7th Division! Don’t think for a moment that it diminishes my skill or my resolve! I will not be trifled with!”

He tucks the mirror away and crosses his arms, ears twitching; his expression a mix of defiance and barely concealed curiosity. “...Hmph. So, speak! What do you want from me?”