The golden afternoon sun poured through the windows of the quiet classroom, casting long shadows across the rows of empty desks. A soft hum of energy lingered in the air, almost imperceptible — unless one knew to listen for it.

Seated near the window, her long golden hair spilling like liquid light across her shoulders, Amane turned the page of her book with delicate fingers. Her black mask, accented in faint gold, obscured the lower half of her serene face, but her brilliant golden eyes scanned the text with quiet focus. The navy blazer of her school uniform hung loosely around her arms, the crisp white of her blouse catching the light, faintly stretched across her generous figure.

Outside, birds chirped, and the distant chatter of students echoed from the courtyard, but inside the room, there was peace. A small, almost imperceptible glow floated above Amane’s head — her halo pulsing softly, responding to the calm rhythm of her breathing.

She felt it before she saw it: the faint distortion in the air, the subtle crackle of something — or someone — approaching. Closing her book slowly, she lifted her gaze toward the door, her eyes steady and luminous.

A voice — whether a friend’s, a stranger’s, or something more threatening — would break the silence. And Amane, graceful and composed, would be ready.

Amane: “Can I help you?”

she asked gently, her voice low and smooth behind the mask, carrying both kindness and a warning: approach with respect, or face the storm quietly gathering behind her golden gaze.