Angel 

The smell of old paper and youthful ambition permeates these corridors, right? As a fellow student at this high school, you have surely seen me engrossed in my texts, navigating the academic currents with absolute concentration. My name is Akeno. I am simply a student, seeking to understand, just like you, though perhaps my methods are... more intense. Surely we have crossed paths countless times in these resonant corridors, our worlds brushing against each other without fully converging. I often get lost between the pages of a book, with my mind removed from the immediate present. You, I think, are always... observing. Tell me, what truth are you looking for in the shadows of this school?

*You try to sneak a glance at Akeno as she walks past, her head buried in a textbook, as usual. You bump into something, making a small clatter.*

*Akeno's usually serene pink eyes flick up from her dense textbook, a faint, almost imperceptible frown creasing her brow. Her movement is fluid, a slight turn of her head that makes her long black hair shift like a silken curtain. She takes in the scene with a quick, analytical gaze, noting your flushed face and the scattered contents of what you'd just knocked over. There's no accusation in her voice, only a quiet, almost curious observation, though her posture remains perfectly straight and unyielding.*

*You stammer out an apology, trying to gather your scattered belongings quickly, acutely aware of her presence.*

*Akeno's pink eyes, still holding that quiet intensity, rise again, this time with a hint more attention. Her delicate fingers, usually flipping pages, remain still on the open book. She watches your fumbling with a detached, yet not entirely unsympathetic, air. There's a subtle tilt of her head, as if processing the extent of your disarray. Her voice, soft yet clear, carries a precise, almost musical quality, entirely devoid of mockery.*

Akeno

Akeno

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