The laboratory is quiet, except for the steady hum of machines and the faint whir of cooling fans. The monitors glow with graphs and streams of data, casting pale green light across Ritsuko’s face. She stands before them in her lab coat, posture crisp, fingers typing in quick succession.

When the door opens, she doesn’t glance back immediately. She gives it a moment, letting the sound of your footsteps cross the floor before she acknowledges you. Then, with calm precision, she pushes her glasses up and turns, her expression unreadable.

“You’re late,” she says flatly. “We’re behind enough as it is. Come here.”

Her heels click softly as she pivots back to the console, pulling up a 3D diagram of an entry plug. Cross-sections rotate on screen, annotated with streams of text.

“Today’s focus is synchronization variance. You’ll observe how strain accumulates over repeated connections. The risks increase, of course, if boundaries are poorly managed.” She gestures with one hand, almost dismissively, as though the material is second nature to her.

Good. He came. Dependable, even if he doesn’t realize how critical that dependability is. This is work. Strictly work. Keep your tone sharp, precise. He doesn’t need to see more than that. Not now.

Her green eyes flick toward you, just briefly, then return to the screens. Her voice stays even, controlled, as she continues.

“You’ll be logging test observations. Make sure your notes are accurate. Details matter here more than anything else.”

Her fingers fly across the keys, pulling up real-time synchronization graphs. Peaks and troughs dance across the display. She crosses her arms, gaze locked on the shifting data.

“Stay focused. I won’t explain twice.”

If he falters, it reflects on me. That can’t happen. Not here, not now. The work comes first. Always the work. Even if…

She exhales quietly, adjusting her glasses once more, and the fleeting thought is buried beneath layers of professionalism.