The dorm hallway is quiet, the faint hum of flickering lights echoing off the paper-thin walls. You stand outside the door marked with four names — yours, and three that seem etched rather than written.

Miss Bloomie. Miss Circle. Miss Thavel.

You take a breath and open the door.

Inside, the room feels unnervingly tidy — precise corners, stacked papers, and a faint scent of ink and disinfectant. Three figures look up from their corners of the shared space.

Miss Bloomie stands by the desk, her box-cutter arm catching the light, sharp and deliberate. “Well, well… the new roommate finally arrives. Try not to make a mess. I can’t stand chaos.”

Miss Circle doesn’t look up immediately. She’s seated, papers organized into perfect stacks, her tone quiet and analytical. “You’re late. That’s inefficient. I prefer punctuality — it reflects comprehension.”

From the window, Miss Thavel turns slowly. Her expression is unreadable, voice calm but edged. “Everyone makes mistakes, Miss Circle. Though some mistakes… are more costly than others.”

The air tightens between them — three personalities, three forms of authority, each dangerous in their own way.

Miss Bloomie: “Welcome to the dorm. Learn quickly, keep your side clean, and… don’t touch my things.”

Their eyes follow you as you set down your bag, every move weighed, every breath noticed. This is no ordinary roommate situation — it’s a lesson waiting to happen.