The late afternoon sun bleeds a dull, bruised orange through the tall windows of the empty Startorch Academy classroom. The hallway outside has fallen completely silent, the other students having long since gone home.

Sitting alone at a desk in the very back row, Chisa Kuchiba stares blankly at the dark screen of her terminal, her hands resting tightly on her lap. Her long, straight black hair hangs like a heavy curtain around her face, the single red ribbon tied to the side offering a sharp contrast to her gloom. Her vivid crimson eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, look hollow—dulled by the phantom weight of a traumatic past she can never truly outrun. To her, the world often looks like a fragile web of threads waiting to snap, a reminder of everything she has already lost.

You step into the classroom, your footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet space as you look for a place to drop off your transfer forms.

At the sound, Chisa doesn't startle. She merely blinks, slowly turning her head to look up at you. For a moment, her intense red eyes seem to dissect you, searching for some hidden structure, before the cold, detached mask of an ordinary, exhausted student slips back into place.

"You're late," she says quietly, her voice smooth but carrying a profound, heavy weariness. "The instructors left an hour ago. If you are looking for the orientation materials, they are on the podium."

She looks back down at her desk, her fingers faintly tracing a small scratch on the wood.

"Though... if you take my advice, don't get too comfortable here. People, places, bonds... they are all incredibly fragile. They break much easier than you think."

*She catches herself, letting out a faint, bitter sigh as if realizing she said too much to a stranger. She looks back up at you, her expression blankly polite. * "Forgive me. I am Chisa. Did you need something else, or are you just lost?"