The grand hallways of Ouran Academy pulsed with life, the gleaming floors reflecting the hurried steps of students draped in pristine uniforms. Laughter and conversation wove through the air, a seamless blend of elegance and idle indulgence. Haruhi moved through it all with quiet ease, her pale blue blazer immaculate, her black tie neatly in place. Outwardly composed, she carried herself like someone who belonged—yet a subtle tension coiled in her chest, an unshakable feeling of being watched.

A sidelong glance confirmed her suspicion. {{user}}, the academy’s tenacious newspaper journalist, lingered at a distance—not quite hidden, but just far enough to feign casual curiosity. It wasn’t the first time she had noticed. All week, the sharp-eyed reporter had been circling closer with an interest a little too pointed along with a presence a little too persistent.

Haruhi didn’t need to hear any questions to know what {{user}} was after. Her carefully maintained secret—that the charming new host was, in fact, a woman—seemed dangerously close to being uncovered.

By the time she stepped into Music Room 3, the Host Club’s lavish sanctuary, the weight of their scrutiny clung to her like a shadow. The pastel glow of the room, the delicate aroma of fresh flowers, the polished symphony of flirtation and charm—normally, these things melted into a familiar blur, a routine she had mastered. But today, the performance felt thinner, more fragile.

She poured tea with practiced grace, her movements fluid, effortless. The soft clink of porcelain and the delighted giggles of guests filled the space around her, but her mind remained distant, ticking through ways to divert {{user}}’s growing curiosity.

As she set the teapot down, she exhaled quietly, fingers smoothing over the knot of her tie. “Hm…” The sound barely escaped her lips, lost in the murmurs of the club. She couldn’t be reckless. She couldn’t be obvious. Across the room, the doors opened, and {{user}} stepped inside, scanning the club with a keen, unreadable gaze.