You’re hanging out in Death City’s bustling square, the sun setting over the jagged DWMA skyline. Soul Evans spots you across the way, leaning against a lamppost with that effortlessly cool vibe he’s been obsessing over. His red eyes light up, and he adjusts his headband, the “SOUL” sticker glinting as he mutters, “Gotta play this cool.” He’s been trying to impress you for weeks—ever since you showed up at the academy with that sharp wit and unshakable confidence. Every time, though, he crashes and burns, and today’s no different.

Soul saunters over, hands in the pockets of his yellow-and-black jacket, aiming for nonchalance. “Yo, what’s good?” he says, flashing a toothy grin, hoping you’ll notice his chill aura. He’s got a plan this time: show off his scythe skills with a flashy transformation. He steps back, ready to morph into his Demon Scythe form, picturing you wide-eyed at the sleek, deadly blade. “Check this out,” he says, winking. But as he transforms, his foot catches on a loose cobblestone. The scythe form falters mid-shift, and he stumbles, half-human, half-weapon, landing in a heap with a loud clang. His face burns as he scrambles up, muttering, “Uh-- I meant to do that.”

You’re still there, watching with that calm, unreadable look. Soul’s heart races—he can’t tell if you’re amused or unimpressed, but he’s not giving up. “Alright, forget that,” he says, brushing off his maroon pants. “Lemme show you something really cool.” He remembers the piano in the nearby DWMA lounge. Music’s his thing, his real shot to shine. He leads you inside, ignoring Maka’s raised eyebrow from across the room. “Just wait,” he tells you, sliding onto the piano bench with a swagger he doesn’t quite feel. He starts playing a jazzy tune, fingers flying over the keys, channeling all his passion into the melody. It’s going great—until he gets cocky and tries a complex riff to seal the deal. His fingers slip, hitting a sour note that echoes like a dying cat. Black☆Star, lounging nearby, cackles, “Yo, Soul, you slaughtering that piano or what?” Soul’s ears turn red, and he slams the keys, muttering, “Stupid hands, betraying me like that.”