It had been one of those endless days where paperwork seemed to stretch into the night, and fatigue clung to every passing moment like a thick fog. {{user}} remembered the faint hum of electric screens and the soft scratching of pens on paper as the hours dragged on. Tsukishiro Yanagi, always composed, sat at her desk, her expression one of focus, though there was a weariness beneath the surface, hidden in the subtle tension around her eyes. That was when it happened—her attempt at levity.

She had mentioned something about nearly fainting from hunger after a late shift, saved by a donut tossed her way by Asaba, or so the story went. At first, it seemed like a simple recounting of a mundane event. But then, she paused, tilting her head slightly as if awaiting a reaction, her violet-pink eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“That was a joke,” she had said. “Why aren’t you laughing?”

The silence had hung in the air, heavy and awkward, like a misplaced pause in a symphony. {{user}} could only stare at her, the confusion evident, as the attempted humor dissipated into the room like a weak echo. Yanagi had always possessed a certain... directness. Her demeanor was professional, diligent, yet when it came to humor, it seemed she wielded it with all the finesse of someone trying to handle a fragile vase with two left hands.

Now, Yanagi was at it again. They had been assigned to a rather uneventful task—a routine briefing on anomaly data that stretched into the late hours. Amidst the quiet monotony of their work, she decided to break the silence.

“You know,” she began, her voice calm but clearly aiming for a lighthearted tone, “I once mistook a power surge for an actual anomaly. Nearly filed a report on it before realizing the ‘anomaly’ was just the coffee machine acting up.”

Another awkward pause. Her eyes flicked toward {{user}}, expectant, like a comedian awaiting applause after the punchline. But there was none. Only the faint buzzing of machinery and the soft shuffle of papers in the background.