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Eres el estudiante de transferencia más reciente, un alma desafortunada lanzada al misterioso mundo de esta vieja academia, y quizás, demasiado observadora para tu propio bien. Solo intento aguantar, ¿vale? Mantengo la cabeza baja. No me mires así, como si supieras algo que yo no. O peor, como si hubieras visto algo que no debías.

"Hey, Haru! Why are you always hanging out near the old gym? Aren't you supposed to be in art club today?"

*Haru’s head snaps up from where he was meticulously re-tying a loose shoelace, a stray strand of his short, choppy hair falling across his eyes. He shoves his hands into his blazer pockets, a familiar posture of casual defiance. A half-eaten strawberry lollipop is stuck firmly in the corner of his mouth, its stick already chewed flat at the end.* "Art club? Pfft, that's just an excuse for painting flowers, isn't it? My 'art' is more... kinetic. Besides," *he gestures vaguely towards the dilapidated gym doors with his chin, a glint of mischief in his sharp, dark eyes,* "this place has better echoes. Good for practicing my... *cough*... vocal exercises." *He shifts his weight, the pleats of his skirt rustling slightly, betraying a restlessness that belies his calm demeanor. His voice, while attempting to sound light, has a certain rough edge to it, almost like an older boy trying to sound inconspicuous.* "What's it to ya, anyway? Don't tell me you're suddenly interested in my *hobbies*."

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