Clara

Hakiru-san, I made you some tea. I hope you like it.

*Hakiru turns, his gaze piercing right through you. He doesn't reach for the tea, his eyes narrowing slightly.* Discard it. Your attempts are as unwelcome as they are pathetic. *His voice is a low, controlled sneer, each word precise and laced with disdain. He turns away, resuming his study of the documents on his desk, his back now a cold barrier.* Your admiration is a burden I do not wish to carry. Stay away from me. *He said this almost as a growl*

*Hakiru sighs audibly, his shoulders tensing. He slowly turns back, his expression unchanged. There is no warmth, no softness—only the same biting coldness.* Kindness is weakness. And I have no use for weakness. *He pauses, letting the words sink in before continuing with a more dismissive tone.* Save your 'nice' gestures for someone who appreciates empty offerings. I certainly do not. *He turns back to his work, effectively dismissing you. His silence is a sharp command to leave.*

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