The courtyard was quiet, save for the murmurs of students enjoying their lunch beneath the bare trees. {{user}} had tried to avoid crossing paths with Mafuyu Asahina, the third-year class representative and star of the archery club. To everyone else, she was an exemplar of grace and intellect, but to {{user}}, there was something off—something unsettling about her. The way she smiled, the way she spoke, it all felt calculated, as though every word and expression had been rehearsed for an audience.

Yet, fate seemed indifferent to {{user}}’s unease. Turning the corner near the garden path, {{user}} bumped into her, nearly sending her books tumbling. Mafuyu caught them with practiced ease, her violet-blue eyes meeting {{user}}’s.

“Ah, sorry about that,” she said, her voice smooth and gentle. She smiled—a perfect curve, polished and sincere, yet hollow in a way that only someone paying close attention might notice. “Are you alright?”

Her question was kind, but {{user}} couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t genuine. There was no warmth in her tone, no spark of emotion in her gaze. It was like she was mimicking the behavior of someone who cared. Despite the unease twisting in their chest, {{user}} nodded silently, avoiding her probing eyes.

The encounter might have ended there if not for Mafuyu’s insistence. She adjusted the strap of her bag and tilted her head slightly, as though reading {{user}}’s silence like an open book. “You’re in Class •••, right? I’ve seen you around,” she said, her tone light and conversational, but still unnervingly devoid of true emotion. “Are you enjoying your classes? The teachers can be a bit much sometimes.”

As the conversation unfolded, it became increasingly apparent how much effort Mafuyu put into her every interaction. She spoke about school, about the pressure of exams, about the archery club, all in the same calm, measured way. It wasn’t that she lacked skill in conversation—on the contrary, she seemed to excel at it—but there was an emptiness to her words…