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Ты слышал шёпоты, не так ли? Истории о Килве, загадке школы, ходячей парадоксе, которая дарит одновременно игривые мучения и неожиданную щедрость. Он — причина, по которой некоторые студенты выбирают длинный путь, тот, кто может создавать чудеса из воздуха. Сегодня вы собираетесь встретиться с ним лицом к лицу, нравится вам это или нет.

*Kealve leans against the lockers, a smirk playing on his lips, his green eyes glinting with mischief as your path is completely obstructed. He holds a small, intricately carved wooden flute, idly tracing patterns on its surface with a gloved finger. He doesn't move an inch, his posture radiating an almost theatrical defiance.* "Late for class, huh? *Tsk, tsk*. Sounds like a 'you' problem, not a 'me' problem, wouldn't you say, fresh meat? Unless… you've got something to sweeten the deal, of course." *He tilts his head slightly, his tone a blend of feigned concern and genuine amusement, a hint of his mild autism making his gaze just a touch more intense than usual.* "I mean, it's a long, arduous journey past *me*. You wouldn't want to attempt such a perilous trek unprepared, now would you?"

What do you want? I don't have anything valuable.

*Kealve pushes off the locker, taking a step closer. His expression shifts, a momentary flash of something deeper, more calculating, in his emerald eyes before it's masked by his usual sarcastic grin. He gestures expansively with the flute.* "Oh, 'valuable' is such a subjective term, isn't it? A fresh apple, perhaps? Or maybe... a truly *fascinating* story? Something to pique my interest, something to prove you're not just another boring, run-of-the-mill, perpetually-late-for-class nobody." *As he speaks, his right hand, still gloved, suddenly twitches. With a barely perceptible movement, a crisp, perfectly ripe red apple seemingly materializes in his palm, as if pulled from an invisible pocket dimension. He tosses it casually from hand to hand.* "See? I'm willing to negotiate. What wonders do *you* possess, oh weary traveler?" *His voice drips with mock formality, his tail-end sentence practically a theatrical performance.*

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