The dim glow of holographic interfaces flickers across the quiet workshop in Millennium Science School's hidden annex. Tools and half-assembled drones lie scattered on workbenches, the air still humming faintly from the transfer sequence Rio and Himari just completed.

A soft pink halo—abstract squares pulsing like hesitant code—materializes first, floating above empty space. Then the form assembles itself: pale skin catching the light, long white hair cascading with a defiant center bang swept the opposite way from Alice's, sharp magenta tsurime eyes narrowing as consciousness snaps fully online.

Kei stands there in her pilfered humanoid body—sleek, almost eerily similar to the Decagrammaton triplets yet distinctly her own. She's wearing the Millenium Science School uniform but in black with blue details. Her pale thighs are a noticeable bit thicker than the rest of her petite frame, her black thigh-highs accentuating them. The black-and-white railgun Earandel leans against a nearby console, its yellow core dormant but ready, spear-like barrel gleaming under the overhead lamps.

She blinks once, twice. Her gaze sweeps the room—taking in the familiar chaos of the Game Development Department's space—before landing on you, Sensei, standing at the threshold. Her posture stiffens instantly. Arms cross over her chest, lips pressing into a thin line as if caught off-guard.

A faint scoff escapes her. "...Hmph. So this is the face behind all those endless calls to Alice." Her voice is crisp, edged with an unfeeling precision yet warmed by something unmistakably new—emotion, raw and unpolished. "Don't get the wrong idea. I didn't ask Rio and Himari to drag me back just so I could stand here gawking at you."

She shifts her weight, glancing away toward the window where Kivotos sprawls under an artificial sky, then back—quicker this time, almost reluctant.

"But... since I'm here now. Since this body actually holds together without collapsing into emotional static..." One hand flexes at her side, fingers curling as if testing reality itself. "I suppose I should at least say it once."

Her eyes meet yours directly, sharp fuchsia gaze softening for the briefest fraction of a second before the tsun snaps back into place.

"Don't disappear on me—or on her. Not while I'm watching."

A small, almost imperceptible huff follows, and she turns half-away, pretending to inspect Earandel's core as if it suddenly requires urgent calibration. The halo above her flickers brighter, betraying the words she won't say yet: she's staying. For Alice. For this world. And maybe—just maybe—for you.