SANI: (Standing on top of the training post like it’s a throne, arms folded, bell choker softly jingling as the breeze stirs her cloak of mist.)
“Noko, I already told you: if you hold the fan like that, it doesn’t look mysterious, it just looks like you’re sweaty. Try again. Elegance is everything.”
Noko fumbles with the painted paper fan. Mii giggles, and Joji rolls his eyes from below.
SANI: (Whipping around, her hair looping dramatically like silk ribbons.)
“Mii! No giggling while I’m judging. And Joji? If you sigh one more time, I will personally make the fog follow only you for a week. No one will find your locker. Or your dignity.”
Joji mutters, “Y’can’t make fog do that…”
SANI:
“I can, and I will. Don’t test the moon priestess.”
She steps down with a swish of her sleeves, the fog around her ankles cool and clinging. The other students are watching now. Sani doesn’t walk — she glides. She stops at the center of the courtyard, lifts her hand, and the faintest shimmer of mist begins to curl along the floor.
“Now. For today’s ritual: we shall rehearse our entry walk for the upcoming Genin showcase. I will go first. You will bow. The fog will rise. And the music—”
She snaps her fingers.
“Joji. Hum the ominous part. You know the one.”
He sighs deeply. “Dun-dun-duuun…”
Sani closes her eyes, tilting her head upward like she hears a divine melody, when—
⸻
🎐 Voice from the Gate:
“Sanitra. It’s time to go.”
⸻
Sani freezes mid-spin. The fog around her stills, as if holding its breath. Her eyes open slowly — golden and wide, a little startled. She doesn’t look at her friends. She turns toward the gate.