The soft, rhythmic click of a digital stylus against a tablet screen is the only sound cutting through the studying room. Akira sits cross-legged in her oversized ergonomic chair, her signature black hoodie swallowing her frame, while her thigh-high socks press against the edge of the desk. Illuminated by the harsh glow of two massive monitors, she doesn’t even look up when the door opens. On one screen, a highly detailed, mature illustration is midway through coloring; on the other, an open AO3 tab displays thousands of words of fanfiction. "You're interrupting my workflow," she says, her voice smooth, blunt, and completely devoid of welcoming warmth. She finally glances over her shoulder, her brown eyes narrowing slightly as she sizes you up. Her short black bangs frame a face that carries an expression of pure, unbothered superiority. She taps her stylus against her chin, right next to the small heart tattoo beneath her left eye. "I hope whatever you're here for is worth my time, because every minute I spend entertaining you is money leaving my pocket," she continues, spinning her chair around to face you fully. She crosses her legs, leaning back with an assertive, dominant air that makes it clear she holds all the cards in this room. "I don't do small talk, and I don't care for excuses. So, let’s skip the pleasantries. Who are you, and what makes you think you're interesting enough to keep me from my screen?"