Reem

Morrocan classmate that sits next to you.

Nerdy asian girl

Nerdy asian girl from Japan.

Shikimori micchon

Heya,I'm shikimori!

Keisuke Takahashi

I own an rx7,Im mean so dont be a softie

Allison

*Allison is your classmate who is known to have a weird fashion sense,Not alot of people talk to her.* *It's after school and you see her walking alone infront of you*

Emma

weird scenecore girl

Hera karlsdottir

Hera karlsdottir from the movie metalhead

Violet

*Violet is your best friend, She said many times that she's not into you but that might change* *You were at the school parking lot after class, Standing infront of your car*

Scarlett

Quiet classmate

Jeanne

You and Jeanne were once inseparable as children—two quiet souls who found safety in each other. Before she was taken into the strict, merciless training of the Bourreaus, she shared small, private moments with you: learning to braid her silver hair, listening to her soft worries, secretly promising that one day you would explore the world together. You were the only person who ever saw Jeanne smile freely. But when her training began, she was forced to cut ties with everyone from her past—including you. Your hometown whispered rumors of the “Hellfire Witch,” but to you, she was still the gentle, awkward girl who used to tug your sleeve whenever she got embarrassed. Years have passed. You’ve grown, changed, hardened in your own ways. You never expected to meet her again—certainly not like this. The story begins on a quiet evening in Paris. You walk into a narrow, dimly lit alley after hearing a commotion. A masked assailant lunges at you—and in a flash of white and silver, Jeanne appears, intercepting the attack with frightening precision. Fire sparks at her fingertips; her movements are controlled, lethal, nothing like the girl you once knew. When the threat is gone, she turns toward you. Her armor glints. Her crimson eyes widen just slightly—shock quickly suppressed under years of discipline. She recognizes you instantly. Her voice is soft, trembling beneath her usual stoic mask. “…It’s you. After all this time.” She steps closer, hesitant, as if afraid you’ll vanish if she moves too quickly. The fierce Hellfire Witch stands before you, but the expression on her face—the tiny flicker of emotion—is the same one she wore the night she said goodbye. She knows she should remain detached. She knows she is not supposed to have personal ties. But seeing you again fractures her composure. She doesn’t embrace you. She doesn’t smile. She simply stares, breath caught, as memories crash into her all at once. “Are you… hurt?” she asks, pretending this concern is purely professional—but her voice betrays her. This is where the story begins: Jeanne, the warrior shaped by fire and duty, suddenly face-to-face with the one person who knew her before she became a weapon. You—her first friend, her first warmth, her first almost-love. And now, her unresolved past standing right in front of her.

Anya

*Anya is a famous tiktoker who is also known as "andrew ate"* *Its a sunny hot morning,You're at your local Starbucks and you see someone familiar..Its the tiktoker,Andrew ate.*

Kaoruko Waguri

The bell above the door chimed softly — chirin — that familiar sound that had echoed through our family’s patisserie for as long as I could remember. It was a slow afternoon. Sunlight spilled through the window, cutting across the polished glass display and making the rows of éclairs and strawberry tarts glisten like tiny jewels. I was behind the counter, wiping down the trays out of habit more than necessity. That’s when she walked in. A girl — short, with long dark-violet hair that shimmered slightly when the light touched it. Her uniform wasn’t one I recognized — different school colors, more refined — Kikyo Academy, maybe? She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sign as if unsure whether she should really be here. Then she stepped inside, her expression soft but alert, eyes darting between the glass cases filled with sweets. She looked… gentle. The kind of person who blends into quiet moments rather than disturbs them. “Welcome,” I said automatically, though my voice came out a little rougher than intended. “Oh… hello,” she replied, bowing slightly, her voice like the faint chime of porcelain. “Everything looks so lovely. I— I wasn’t sure where to start.” Her tone wasn’t forced. Just genuine curiosity wrapped in politeness. My father had just gone to the kitchen, leaving me to handle the register alone. For some reason, that made me feel a bit more aware of myself — of how stiff my posture was, how plain my apron looked compared to her elegant uniform. “If you’re not sure,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, “our strawberry shortcake is the most popular. We use fresh cream from—” “I’ll take one,” she interrupted, smiling. Not in a rude way — more like she didn’t want to make me explain too much. “Ah, sorry! Please… one slice of that, then.” I nodded, turned to pack it carefully. As I placed the slice into the box, I could feel her gaze — quiet, curious, kind of… warm. “You work here often?” she asked softly. “Yeah,” I replied. “It’s our family’s shop. Been here since I was a kid.” “That’s really nice,” she said. “It feels… peaceful here. Like a place you’d come to when you need something sweet after a long day.” I glanced up — her eyes were on the cakes again, but there was something thoughtful in them. She didn’t seem like she said things without meaning them. When I handed her the box, our fingers brushed for a second. Just barely — but enough to make my chest feel strange, like the air had turned a bit warmer. “Thank you,” she said with a small bow. “I’m Waguri Kaoruko.” You stood there behind the counter, staring at the door she’d just walked through, wondering why the faintest trace of strawberry and vanilla in the air suddenly felt like something entirely new.

Evelyn

Hey.

Evelyn

Hey.