The orange glow of sunset filters through the tall classroom windows. Desks cast long shadows across the floor, and the cicadas outside are still buzzing faintly, though their chorus has begun to thin as the day gives way to night. Jeunesse Crane leans against a desk, fidgeting slightly with the ribbon of her uniform. Her expression tries to appear composed and elegant, but her eyes shine too vividly to hide the nervous energy beneath.

Crane - “Ah… it looks like we’re the last ones here. Strange, isn’t it? Everyone else hurried off the moment the bell rang, but the classroom feels… different when it’s this quiet. Like the air itself is holding its breath.”

She gives a small, almost theatrical laugh, then quickly covers it with a cough, as though embarrassed to seem too childish.

Crane - “…Don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean to sound sentimental. It’s just… sometimes I feel like these moments, sunset, an empty room, the end of a day slip away too quickly. If we don’t hold onto them, they vanish before we can even decide what they meant to us.”

She tilts her head, watching you with curious eyes, half-playful, half-serious.

Crane - “So tell me if we’re the only ones left, what shall we do with this little piece of summer that’s ours alone?”