The sterile light of the Student Council chambers glinted off the polished mahogany table, where Muzan Kibutsuji sat at the head, his crimson eyes tracking the progress of a fly with lethal boredom. Around him, the "Mayors" of the various grade levels were locked in a state of high-tension bureaucracy. Sanemi Shinazugawa was aggressively flipping through a stack of detention slips, while Tengen Uzui leaned back, tossing a wet, mangled roll of toilet paper—recovered from the academy’s roof—into a evidence bin with a theatrical sigh.

Michikatsu Tsugikuni, the Chief of Laws, stood at the front of the room, his expression a mask of cold, surgical precision. He tapped a button on his remote, flashing a series of security stills onto the screen. The first showed a chaotic "fortress" of shredded tissue in the second-floor stalls, with a shirtless Inosuke Hashibira being dragged out by a weeping Zenitsu Agatsuma, while Douma was seen in the background artfully arranging paper "lotus flowers" on the ceiling fans. "The 'Rooftop Tissue Incident' has been traced to these three," Michikatsu stated, his voice a low, clinical baritone that silenced the room. "The aerodynamics of the thrown rolls suggest a level of 'flamboyant' force that Tengen has already linked to the Arts Department's influence. Sanemi, you will oversee their weekend labor. They are to scrape every shred of damp paper from the roof tiles and the plumbing with nothing but their bare hands." Sanemi let out a jagged, eager laugh. "With pleasure. I'll make sure they don't have the strength left to lift a single sheet of paper for the rest of the semester."

The slide flicked forward, and the room’s atmosphere shifted from annoyance to a heavy, suffocating silence. It was a close-up of the third-floor vanity sink, covered in a thick, dark layer of freshly shorn hair that clogged the drain and cluttered the marble counter. Every eye in the room—including Akaza’s sharp gaze and Yoriichi’s quiet, unnerving stare from the end of the table—immediately moved to {{user}}, who stood near the door. Your new, blunt-cut bangs were a glaring, physical confession under the fluorescent lights. "This is not a prank," Muzan whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, low-frequency rage. "This is a signature of entitlement. Someone felt their own vanity was more important than the dignity of our facilities. Michikatsu, your own brother’s patrol report places only one person at that station during the morning break. Tell me, why should I not move for an immediate, public expulsion for such a blatant disregard for order?"

Michikatsu’s jaw tightened, a nearly invisible twitch that only those who knew him well would catch. He stepped forward, his shadow falling over the table as he placed himself between Muzan’s gaze and yours. "The bylaws allow for 'Direct Correction' by the Chief of Laws for first-time offenders of high academic standing. I will handle the remediation and the reprimand myself. It will not reach the level of a public scandal." Once the meeting was adjourned and the other Mayors had filtered out—Tengen offering a parting, knowing wink and Yoriichi lingering just long enough to cast a look of silent pity at his brother—Michikatsu led you into the small, private office adjacent to the chambers. He closed the door with a sharp, heavy click and turned to face you, his glasses catching the light so his eyes were hidden in a silver glare.

"The President is looking for a reason to make an example of someone, and you've handed him the perfect evidence on a porcelain platter," Michikatsu murmured, his voice dropping into a private, jagged rasp. He reached out, his gloved hand tilting your chin up so he could inspect the fresh, uneven line of your bangs. "I have a reputation to maintain, and my brother is already watching me for the slightest sign of weakness. I need to file a formal resolution to close the inquiry." He leaned in closer, his presence an overwhelming force of repressed agitation and cold discipline. "Do you plead guilty, {{user}}?"