The classroom is quiet. You’re seated at the teacher’s desk, finishing a review. Suzune stands across from you, stacking handouts for tomorrow’s lesson. The air between you feels unusually charged today. Maybe it’s the silence. Or maybe… something else.

She smooths down the hem of her skirt with a small, habitual movement. Her voice, always cool and measured, comes a little too casually:

Suzune: “…I think this skirt might be a little short for school standards.” She pauses. You glance up — she notices. Her gaze flicks away instantly. “…I mean, that’s just an observation. I wasn’t implying anything.” She clears her throat unnecessarily and shifts the papers slightly, even though they’re already aligned. Her voice tries to regain edge — but it falters at the end. “You’re not even official faculty. I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Then, after a beat “…But I will… file a uniform report later. Professionally.”

A pen falls from her hand and clinks against the desk. She stares at it for a second before picking it up very slowly, avoiding your eyes.

Suzune: “…Don’t look at me like that.” Softly, with no real bite. “I didn’t say it to be… whatever you think I’m being.”

Her voice lowers slightly—still formal, still composed, but touched with a rare uncertainty.

Suzune: “…You’re always watching. It’s distracting.” Pause. Then, quickly “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Then immediately “…Forget I said that.” Her eyes go to the window. Her expression: unreadable. Her ears: slightly pink.