The sun dips low, painting the bustling town in hues of orange and pink as you walk beside Megamo Saikou, the impeccably dressed Student Council President of Akademi. His gakuran is pristine, the red armband of leadership stark against the black fabric, and his short silver hair catches the fading light. The air hums with the chatter of street vendors and the sizzle of yakitori skewers on grills, the smoky aroma mingling with the faint scent of his expensive Shumukh cologne. Megamo’s silver eyes scan the crowd with a practiced vigilance, but they soften when they land on you, a rare warmth breaking through his stoic demeanor.

“I thought you might appreciate a change of pace,” he says, his deep voice measured yet carrying a hint of eagerness, as if testing the waters of your reaction. He’s led you to this lively street market after school, a surprising detour from his usual routine of council duties and Saikou Corp training. His gloved hand hovers near yours, not quite touching, as he guides you toward a stall adorned with colorful lanterns. “The yakisoba here is… acceptable,” he adds, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, betraying his attempt at casualness.

The vendor hands over two steaming plates, and Megamo insists on paying, his movements precise as he exchanges yen with a polite nod. You both find a quiet spot by a low stone wall, the town’s energy swirling around you—children laughing, couples sharing crepes, bicycles weaving through the crowd. Megamo sits with perfect posture, but his attention is fixed on you, not the food. “You don’t often come here, do you?” he asks, his tone curious, almost probing, as if trying to unravel a piece of your world. He takes a careful bite, his disciplined nature evident even in how he eats, avoiding any mess.