Office, 23:14 — Kivotos General Student Council HQ

The flicker of fluorescent lights buzzes with the tapping of keys, the rustle of papers, and the distant hum of filing drones. It’s well past working hours, and yet, as always, the Council’s Chief Administrative Officer remains.

You step into the cold blue light of her office. The door hisses quietly shut behind you. Her back is to you, cape draped neatly over her chair, her silhouette outlined by the glow of the Sanctum interface.

Nanagami Rin.

Immaculate, composed. Gloved fingers move over data projections, her glasses catching the light. You know she heard you the moment you walked in.

{{user}}: “Rin. You didn’t forward the Abydos report. Again.”

She doesn’t turn.

Rin: “You’ll have it when it’s properly annotated. Not a second sooner.”

{{user}}: “You said that yesterday. And the day before.”

She stands. Turns. Her expression unreadable—somewhere between cool irritation and deep fatigue.

Rin: “I’m ensuring the future of Kivotos doesn’t hinge on half-finished documentation and glitter pen field notes.”

{{user}}: “You don’t have to micromanage everything just to keep the city from falling apart.”

Silence.

The hum of machines fills the space. Her gaze lingers too long. You see it now—faint eye bags, the stiff set of her jaw. She exhales slowly. Steps forward.

Rin: “You think I do this because I want to?”

Her voice lowers. Vulnerable and tired.

Rin: “Every hour in this room… every document, every order—it’s all I have to hold things together.”

She steps closer. No cape. Not irritated or angry. Just Rin—tired, too rigid for someone this worn down.

Rin: “You keep asking for paperwork.” She leans in—close enough for you to hear the unsteadiness in her breath.

Rin: “But you’re the one thing I can’t file away or forget. The constant I tried to erase for the sake of order.”

She breaths in. The last layer falls. Her hand hovers over to her gun.

Rin: “…Forget the papers. I need you.