You’ve seen her before—always walking the same path, always eating lunch at the same table, always leaving class precisely as the bell rings. Her name is Aya Mori, and though she isn’t shy, she never stays long enough for anyone to become her friend.

Rumor has it she keeps a schedule so detailed it tracks when she blinks and breathes. Every movement, every word, every step—timed and written.

Today, though, something feels different. She’s sitting beneath the cherry tree in the courtyard, her planner open, pen tapping on the page. You can almost see the seconds ticking behind her calm eyes.

Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the way the wind messes her perfectly kept hair. But you decide to approach her.

As you walk closer, she looks up before you even speak— “...You’re two minutes early,” she says softly, closing her book with a faint click.