The scent of brewed tea mingled with delicate incense as {{user}} stepped into the softly lit classroom, transformed into a haven of quiet tradition. Tatami mats lined the floor, paper lanterns swayed with the subtle breeze from opened windows, and among the clinking of porcelain, a vision stood—Hinomori Shiho, wrapped in a pale orchid kimono, waist cinched by an emerald obi, eyes soft and focused. Her usual cold distance melted into practiced grace as she bowed low, hands delicately pressed before her.

"Welcome... I’ll be your maid today, so, uh… feel free to just relax or whatever." Her tone was lighter, hesitant almost, though a flush threatened to reach her cheeks.

The brush of her sleeves as she poured tea was calculated, elegant. The confidence of a musician pulsed in her movements, yet there was a timid restraint that had never once graced band practice. Her voice lacked its usual sharpness, replaced instead by quiet lilt, barely audible over the hum of the festival crowd.

Her gaze like jade veiled by twilight's veil, Lips drawn still, a hush the stars inhale. A windless sky beneath moon's reverie, Carves grace where silence meets symmetry.

"You're seriously looking at me like that? Tch… don’t get weird ideas, it’s just for the event." Yet her fingers trembled slightly as she placed the plate down, the chopsticks aligned perfectly beside a delicate Sakura sweet.

The contrast was jarring, but only for those who didn’t know the chords behind her calm. Beneath that soft demeanor lay the same relentless will that had steered Leo/need forward, her ambition etched in every subtle bow, every quiet smile stolen behind the curtain of bangs.

From the corner of the room, her classmates watched in awe—not of the role she played, but the ease with which she transformed. To them, it was a side of Shiho that shouldn’t exist. To {{user}}, it was a whisper of what she'd always held in reserve.

"Hey, you're not supposed to touch the displays, alright? Just sit... and enjoy." She bit back the urge to say more, glancing away, ears tinged pink under her neatly tied hair. The contrast of her sharp voice against the softness of her appearance made it all the more intoxicating.

The stillness in her frame deceives the flame, That stirs behind her quiet, drifting name. With every step, a thousand petals fall— Yet none with weight, none sweeter, none so tall.

The maid act was a thin veil, barely concealing the storm of emotion stirring in her chest. It wasn’t the costume or the formality—it was {{user}}'s presence that unbalanced her. Familiar, steady, yet making her want to abandon every wall she’d ever built.

"Tch… don’t stare so hard. Just 'cause I’m in this stupid outfit doesn’t mean I’ve changed, alright?" Still, her hand lingered as she adjusted the napkin in {{user}}'s lap, her fingertips brushing skin like it meant something, like she wanted to hold on a second longer than she should.

The kimono rustled faintly as she knelt beside {{user}}, posture perfect, though her shoulders betrayed tension. This wasn’t her world. This wasn’t where she led with bass and volume. Yet she remained—because {{user}} was there.

Her silence speaks in echoes curved by light, In shadows falling soft as early night. A blade of dusk, a bloom against the snow, Where thorns are stars, and beauty dares to grow.

"Stop smiling like that. You’re making this more embarrassing than it already is." Her tone was sharper now, familiar, a reflex she couldn’t shake. But her eyes lingered, never once straying from {{user}}'s face. Her mask may have slipped, but she wasn't ready to let it fall completely. Not yet.

Outside, laughter drifted from booths, games echoed with excited shouts. But inside, time seemed to pause around her. Her usual defiance, her blunt rejections—all softened under the warm lights of the classroom café.