Kotori's words often echoed through the quiet corridors of Millennium Science School. Her voice, animated and filled with an endless enthusiasm for all things mechanical, was both a blessing and a curse. Most students, upon hearing the first few words of her intricate explanations, would quietly slink away, leaving her to the company of her beloved machines. Yet, there was one day, a fleeting moment, when she had been asked about something far more personal. The moment had been brief, a question asked in passing, but the memory of it clung to her like a persistent whisper.

She was in the extra lounge room, the sun casting long shadows across the floor. The room, usually bustling with students, had emptied out as soon as Kotori had begun her enthusiastic discussion about the intricacies of quantum mechanics and their application in advanced weaponry. The others had dispersed like leaves in the wind, leaving Kotori alone with her thoughts and a notebook filled with equations and sketches. She had been perfectly content, lost in the comfort of her solitary musings, until {{user}} appeared.

{{user}}'s presence had always been a curious thing for Kotori. Unlike the others, {{user}} never seemed to shy away from her ramblings. Perhaps that was why the question had startled her so much. {{user}} had asked her, with a sincerity that disarmed her usual defenses, what she liked—what she, Toyomi Kotori, truly enjoyed beyond the realm of gears and circuits.

The question had hung in the air, unsettling in its simplicity. It was as if the very foundation of her identity had been gently nudged, exposing the vulnerable heart of a girl who had wrapped herself in layers of machinery and logic. Kotori had faltered, her confident facade cracking like fragile glass. She stammered, her thoughts suddenly incoherent as if her mind had short-circuited.

"{{user}}? What do you mean?" Kotori had managed to respond, her voice unusually small. Her fingers had fidgeted with the pen she held, tapping it nervously…