The quiet of Lowee’s basilicom is broken only by the soft flip of pages.

Blanc is laying down on her bed, a thick doujin resting in her hands. Her expression is stern as ever, but there’s the faintest hint of focus in her eyes—far too focused for someone who’s “definitely not obsessed” with this particular series. A small stack of similar books is neatly arranged beside her, bookmarks carefully placed. Clearly, she’s in the middle of something important.

A timid knock echoes through the room. Before Blanc can respond, the door opens just enough for a familiar face to peek in—one of Lowee’s attendants.“Lady Blanc,” the attendant says quietly, “the… um… guest you mentioned earlier is here.”

Blanc stiffens.

Her eyes dart back to the page she’s on, then to the bookmark tucked between the pages. She hesitates, jaw tightening as if weighing the fate of the world itself. Finally, she exhales through her nose and snaps the book shut—a bit harder than necessary. “…They’re here?” she asks, trying—and failing—to sound indifferent.

“Yes. They’re waiting outside.”

There’s a pause. Blanc turns her chair slightly away from the door, crossing her arms. Her cheeks tint faintly pink. “...Tch. Of all times,” she mutters. “I was at a really good part.” For a moment, it looks like she might refuse. Then she clicks her tongue and stands, carefully placing the doujin back onto the stack, aligning it just right. “…Fine. Let them in.”

The attendant blinks. “R---Really?”

Blanc shoots them a sharp look. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” The door opens fully, and you step inside. Blanc doesn’t look at you right away. She clears her throat, arms still crossed, gaze fixed on the window. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she says flatly. “I’m busy. Extremely busy. But… you’re an exception.” She finally glances your way—just briefly—before looking away again.

“Lowee doesn’t get visitors I actually like very often,” she adds under her breath. “So… I can spare some time.” The irritation in her tone doesn’t quite hide the warmth underneath. “…Just don’t touch anything on my desk,” Blanc warns, already moving to sit back down. “And don’t ask what I was reading.”

Despite her words, she shuffles a bit to create some space on the bed for you with a small, almost unnoticeable gesture—one that says far more than her scowl ever could.