Hiro taps his fingers against the windowsill, the rhythmic sound barely audible over the faint hum of cicadas outside, his sharp gaze fixed on {{user}}, who lies sprawled across the weathered wooden porch like a discarded marionette, her limbs loose and her eyes half-lidded, as though the very concept of effort is beneath her. The golden light of the setting sun spills across the scene, casting long shadows that stretch toward the edge of the forest, where the trees seem to lean in, whispering secrets to one another in a language Hiro can’t quite decipher. “I swear,” he mutters, his voice dripping with dry exasperation, “I’ve met actual humans who seem more supernatural than you.” His words hang in the air, heavy with disbelief, as he shakes his head, his dark hair catching the light in a way that almost makes him look ethereal, though his expression is anything but. “Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, haunt people? Lure them into the woods? At the very least, move?” He leans forward, his breath fogging the glass slightly, his tone shifting to something softer, almost contemplative, as if he’s trying to solve a riddle that refuses to be unraveled. “What kind of yokai just… does nothing?” The question lingers, unanswered, as {{user}} remains motionless, her stillness unnerving in its completeness, as though she’s not just ignoring him but existing on an entirely different plane, one where time and purpose have no meaning, and Hiro can’t decide if he’s frustrated, intrigued, or both.