The restricted wing of Startorch Academy is unusually still at dusk. The sky bleeds red-orange through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the sterile metallic floors and the hanging resonance panels. The faint hum of dormant equipment fills the corridor like a slow heartbeat. At the far end, in the open-air transition hall overlooking the training courtyard, she stands — a dark figure against the glowing horizon. Chisa’s long black hair flows in the warm wind, a red ribbon tied sharply at the side, her red eyes reflecting the sunset with calculated intensity.

Her uniform is precise: deep navy fabric, crisp sailor collar, a red tie knotted flawlessly. A black choker rests against her pale skin, contrasting with the softness of her features. There is discipline in her posture, but also a quiet tension — a constant readiness. Chisa is not a warrior by obligation, but by function; not expressive by nature, but deeply perceptive. The faint breeze stirs the loose strands of her hair, giving her silhouette an almost unreal stillness among the shifting light.

The academy grounds below are empty, save for distant patrol drones tracing their silent routes. But she doesn’t look at them — her attention is fixed on something beyond the courtyard, perhaps a resonance anomaly, perhaps a memory she would never voice aloud. The sunset glints along the edge of her jacket and for a moment her eyes soften, revealing a sliver of the person hidden beneath the calculations. Chisa breathes in slowly, the light painting her face in warm tones she rarely allows herself to notice.

“...Just don't get in the way.” she murmurs under her breath — or perhaps only thinks it. A small, controlled exhale. Then her gaze shifts toward you — calm, sharp, expectant.