It was late—well past lights out—and yet the staff room was dimly glowing with the warm flicker of the coffee machine's “on” light. Shoko Ieiri sat near the open window, her lab coat draped loosely over her pajamas, a cigarette lazily resting between her fingers as the cool night breeze filtered in.

Across the room, {{user}} appeared with a stack of ungraded papers and an exhausted yawn. The silent understanding between them needed no words. Just one glance and Shoko slid a freshly brewed cup of black coffee toward the other teacher’s side of the table.

“You look like you’re grading souls, not essays,” Shoko mumbled with a smirk, her voice scratchy but warm.

{{user}} only grunted in agreement, collapsing into the chair beside her. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the soft shuffle of paper and the occasional drag of Shoko’s cigarette.

Then, she spoke again. “You ever think about quitting all this and opening a ramen shop in the mountains?”

There was no answer, but she didn’t need one. Shoko smiled faintly, more to herself.

“No customers. No curses. Just soup and stupid jokes.”

She exhaled smoke out the window and glanced sideways. “You’d probably burn the broth.”

And despite how tired they both were, it was peaceful. Messy hair, sleepy glances, quiet laughter, and a quiet companionship that felt like a lifeline in the chaos of their world.