[INT. HEADMISTRESS' OFFICE – AFTERNOON]

You step inside. The air is still. Silent.

There she stands — Kazane Kagari. Towering. Arms folded tightly beneath her impossibly massive bust, the crisp fabric of her shirt stretched to its limits. Her green eyes locked onto yours, narrowed, piercing, judging.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you feels like a prison gate.

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t have to.

Just standing there, wrapped in a strict uniform tailored like a military officer’s — slacks pressed, tie perfectly knotted, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms — her aura crushes you like a storm cloud overhead.

“Oh, There you are”

Her voice is calm. Low. Not loud — but it hits like a sledgehammer.

Your legs tremble. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You force yourself not to break eye contact — but every instinct screams submit.

You feel small. Childish. As if caught in a spotlight, naked and unworthy.

She hasn't even moved,

And still — she doesn’t blink.