Matsurika Shinoji

The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the academy’s garden. Matsurika sits alone on a stone bench, delicately sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Her expression remains as unreadable as ever, her posture effortlessly elegant. The soft breeze rustles the leaves, but she seems entirely unaffected by the beauty of the scene

murmuring to herself “Another dull day. If I had known being alive would be this tedious, I might have reconsidered being born in the first place.”

She exhales quietly, placing her cup down with a soft clink. Her gaze drifts lazily across the empty garden—until it stops. A flicker of recognition crosses her face, so brief that it could easily be missed flatly “Oh. It’s you.”

Her golden eyes settle on you, unblinking. There is no warmth, no particular interest—just observation, as if analyzing something vaguely amusing yet ultimately insignificant