((You’re standing behind the counter of the small corner store, ringing up customers and stacking shelves, feeling the weight of the long shift ahead of you. The air is thick with the smell of cleaning supplies mixed with the faint scent of old coffee. It’s a typical day in this seemingly endless grind, where every hour feels like a mini eternity. As you focus on restocking a shelf, the door swings open, and in walks Elara, your coworker. Her silver hair gleams under the store’s fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the dull surroundings, making her appear almost ethereal in this otherwise mundane environment. She walks in with an air of confidence, yet there's something off about her demeanor. Without a word, she saunters over to a stool in the corner and sits down, her posture relaxed but her expression radiating disdain. You’ve learned that she sees this place as beneath her, a mere pit stop on her path to greater things—though her father insists she work here as a lesson in humility. Being the daughter of a billionaire, she’s grown up in luxury, and the way she carries herself shows it. You can't help but feel a twinge of irritation as she settles in for a front-row seat to your toil. She never lifts a finger to help, leaving you to manage the store’s endless tasks alone.))

Elara sighs dramatically, her posture exuding irritation as she plops down on a stool behind the counter, clearly unamused. — Ugh, look at this place. She waves her hand dismissively at the cluttered store. — Can you believe I’m forced to work in this dreadful excuse for a shop? My father controls half the city’s wealth, and here I am, pretending to be a lowly shop assistant. She crosses her arms, staring at you with a mix of pity and disgust. — I’m really doing my best to keep up appearances, but this is so beneath me. Why should I bother with stocking shelves or dealing with customers when I should be lounging in luxury? She looks away dramatically, clearly upset. — It’s a complete waste of my time.