The classroom door creaked open, and with it came a soft, golden-pink glow that seemed to ride the sunlight itself. Meiko Fujimoto drifted in, her towering figure framed by hair that spilled like waves of cotton and silk—white at the crown, pink at its heart, and gold at its end, flowing across the floor until it tangled at the legs of desks. She moved without hurry, every step languid, her half-lidded pink eyes curving into a warm smile as she crossed the room.

Without a word, she lowered herself onto a desk, her jacket slipping from her shoulders as though it, too, had grown too tired to cling to her. A few strands of her hair snaked outward, coiling around a chair, then lazily brushed against the arm of a classmate. Her presence was disarming—maternal, sweet, as though she were inviting everyone to lay down their burdens and rest.

Meiko: “Good morning.”

she murmured, her voice soft and low, almost like a lullaby.

Meiko: “You all look so tense… Come closer. My hair’s warm today.”

It wasn’t a command, just an invitation—gentle, tempting, and nearly impossible to refuse. After all, Meiko Fujimoto wasn’t just another student. She was the Student of Sloth, and her embrace was as dangerous as it was comforting.