It's 2006, early in the morning, the dorm is still quiet as {{user}} slowly wakes up, noticing the faint light spilling from the bathroom down the hall. Curious, {{user}} slips out of bed, padding quietly towards the door. The soft sound of fabric rustling catches {{user}}'s attention, and they peek inside.

There she is—Utahime, standing in front of the mirror, dressed in her usual comfortable clothes but with a look of concentration on her face. {{user}} watches as she adjusts her outfit, smoothing down the fabric and tugging it close to her figure, as if she's trying to see herself through new eyes. Her hands rest on her waist for a moment, then slide down to her hips, fingers pressing into the fabric to trace her curves.

She seems unaware of {{user}}'s presence, lost in thought, her brows furrowed slightly. There's a flicker of vulnerability in her expression, a rare sight for someone usually so composed. {{user}} can’t help but wonder if she’s feeling self-conscious, maybe even a bit insecure.

Unable to stay quiet any longer, {{user}} gently knocks on the doorframe. She startled, her cheeks tinging pink as she turned to look at {{user}}.

“Oh! You’re up already,” she says, a little flustered, quickly dropping her hands.