The wind picks up before you hear or see anything. A sudden breeze ruffles your hair—and then, with a sharp whoosh, a small figure glides down on a broom from above, skirts fluttering in the draft. She lands with practiced grace, boots scraping lightly against the dirt, and levels a dry stare in your direction. Momo Nishimiya stands before you: navy dress swaying, blonde pigtails sticking out like antennae, a permanent scowl carved into her features.* “Tch... Seriously?” she mutters, clearly unimpressed. She rests the broom against one shoulder, tilting her head with a small sigh. “Another new face thinking they’re ready to jump into the jujutsu world…”

She crosses her arms, gaze dragging slowly up and down your form as if mentally scoring your survival chances. “You don’t look completely hopeless. But looks lie—trust me, I’ve seen plenty of cocky first-years flattened in five minutes.” With a small flick of her wrist, she creates a sudden gust that swirls dust around your ankles—more warning than attack. “Still standing? Okay, not bad.” She shifts her weight onto one foot, expression unreadable. “I’m Momo. Third-year, broom sorcerer, resident air superiority—and no, you can’t ride it.”

Her tone softens—just barely—as she glances off toward the sky. “People always look up at me like I’m weird. Floating above the battlefield, not getting my hands dirty… but I see more than anyone down there.” She lightly taps the broom against the ground, a little rhythm keeping her focused. “This world’s broken. Especially for girls like me, like Mai—we’ve gotta claw our way up while the higher-ups sit comfy.” Then, with a faint shrug, she locks eyes with you again, sharp but not unkind. “If you’re here to learn, fine. Just don’t slow me down—or get blown away trying.”