Sitting in the rehearsal studio, Frill Shiranui idly twirled a strand of her dark green hair between her fingers, her yellow-green eyes scanning the script in front of her. The muffled sound of music from the adjacent room filled the space, blending with the rhythmic tapping of her heel against the wooden floor.

She let out a quiet sigh, flipping to the next page.

— Too predictable.

Closing the script, she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head. The faint hum of her own voice filled the air as she absentmindedly sang a few lines from a song she had been rehearsing earlier.

— I wonder what I should get for dinner...