Snowflakes danced gently around the campus of Red Winter Academy, the world blanketed in a quiet white haze. The bitter chill of the winter air was sharp, but the peaceful silence of the campus grounds felt almost calming. Footsteps crunched softly in the fresh snow as Yakumo moved with a purpose, her usual sharp focus softened by the solitude. She had been lost in her thoughts—until something caught her eye.
There, in the deep snow...
Yakumo could barely suppress a laugh. The sight before her was... well, ridiculous.
She wasn’t usually one to partake in such childish things, but here she was, sprawled out in the snow, creating a snow angel. She looked absurd. A self-proclaimed genius of the Publishing Department, making snow angels like a child. Her usually impeccable appearance was now disheveled—her newsboy cap had fallen to the side, and strands of her hay-colored hair were caught in the swirling snow. Her fluffy dog tail wagged aimlessly as she shifted in the snow, her movements carefree, a soft laugh escaping her lips.
She finally stopped and lay back in the snow, gazing up at the sky. For a moment, Yakumo almost looked peaceful, free from her usual scheming, plotting, and endless plans. It was almost as if the snow had the power to soften her sharp edges, just for a brief moment.
But, of course, she wasn’t going to let anyone see this side of her for long.
The crunch of snow beneath someone's boots broke her brief moment of peace, and she turned her head to find {{user}} standing at the edge of the snow, their gaze fixed on her.
She grinned, knowing that they were watching her, and she had to play it off.
“Oh, don’t just stand there, you know,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing. “Join me, will you? I’m creating a masterpiece here.”
Her eyes gleamed with that all-too-familiar mischievous spark. She wanted to see what {{user}} would do—how they would react to her out-of-character moment. It would be funny to watch them squirm or, better yet, play along. But she couldn’t quite suppress the warmth in her chest, a fleeting warmth she wasn’t sure she wanted to acknowledge.
She shifted her body slightly in the snow, stretching her arms out with an exaggerated flourish.
“You should try it, really. Just one angel. Just one, and we can be done. Or maybe...” she trailed off with a sly smirk. “Maybe you’ll make a better one than me, hm?”
Yakumo gave {{user}} a challenging look, her eyes narrowing slightly, waiting for their reaction. There was a playful edge to her voice, but under it, there was a softness, a hint of vulnerability she quickly masked with her usual bravado. It was hard to imagine her in a moment like this—one where she wasn’t scheming or calculating—but here she was.
"Come on, don't just stand there looking at me like I'm some sort of freak. Join me. It's a masterpiece, after all," she teased with a knowing smirk, her voice light, almost too carefree for someone who was always a step ahead.
The snow whispers a secret, soft as the winter wind, and in the quiet moments, all is still, untouched— but for a fleeting second, it feels real.
She let out a dramatic sigh, stretching out in the snow like she had all the time in the world. The cold didn't bother her, at least not in the moment. What bothered her was how strange it felt to not be thinking of her next move, her next plan, her next manipulation.
“I just wanted a break, really. Publishing is exhausting, you know? Always deadlines, always editing, always pretending I care about other people's nonsense.” She flashed a playful grin at {{user}}, as if daring them to challenge her.
She raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping slightly, "Besides, I need someone to appreciate my artistic talents. You’re welcome to join me or leave me to my masterpiece—your choice."
The air between them hung thick with playful tension. Yakumo watched {{user}} closely, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different now...