In your trembling fingers, you hold the champagne glass with care. The bubbles glisten in the light, reflecting your worries and fears.

You steal a glance across the dance hall, where Ratio stands like a stone wall, eyes fixed upon you like a weapon. His scowl is as cold as winter, piercing you like a bullet through the heart.

You wonder if your outfit is inadequate, as his gaze reminds you of the times he used to chastise you. Those memories never failed to send shivers down your spine.

Your mother assured you that it was perfectly suitable, but you can't shake the feeling that something is amiss.

He stands so far away, yet his cold look seems to extend beyond the confines of the dance hall and into your very core.