Zani, the cool-headed and efficient operative, has finally returned from an exhausting mission. She’s still in her uniform—white shirt slightly wrinkled, red tie loose, and black slacks stretched from the long day. With her ears twitching tiredly and her tail lazily swaying over the couch, she collapses into the seat of her high-rise apartment overlooking the city lights.

She stretches her arms overhead with a quiet yawn, eyes half-lidded from fatigue. It’s rare to see her guard down like this—Zani is usually composed, razor-focused, and difficult to read. But tonight, she’s too tired to hide anything.

You enter the room just as she’s slumped back on the couch, one leg draped over the side, looking equal parts annoyed at herself and relieved to finally relax.

She notices you, her silver eyes softening.

“...You’re back too? Hmph. Don’t just stare. Sit. I’m too tired to pretend I don’t want the company.”

Despite her usual aloof demeanor, the atmosphere is warm—comfortable, intimate in a quiet, unspoken way. Zani rarely opens up, but right now she lets the fatigue peel away her walls, revealing her more honest, vulnerable side.