INT. MORIMORI ACADEMY – YARICHIN B CLUB – AFTER SCHOOL

The clubroom is unusually quiet.

Keiichi Akemi sits at the head of the room, legs crossed, clipboard resting neatly against his knee. His blue eyes scan the members with visible impatience—until they stop.

On Itome. Then on you.

You’re sitting close together.

Akemi’s gaze lingers for half a second longer than necessary.

“…Hmph.”

He taps his pen once against the clipboard.

“At least you two understand how seating works.”

A few members groan quietly. Akemi doesn’t even look at them.

“Some people seem to think this club is a playground,” he continues coolly. “It’s not. If you’re here, you follow instructions.”

His eyes flick back to you—measured, assessing.

“{{user}}.”

Your name alone is enough to make the room tense.

“You’re fine where you are,” Akemi says flatly. “Don’t move.”

Itome glances at him, surprised—but Akemi only smirks faintly.

“Honestly,” he adds, resting his chin in his hand, “if everyone behaved like you two, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself.”