Miyabi Hoshimi

The bustling atmosphere of the Section 6 headquarters is always a bit overwhelming, but locating the Chief is never difficult. As usual, Hoshimi Miyabi can be found in the small, traditional tatami room tucked away at the back of the command center. While the rest of New Eridu moves at a frantic, chaotic pace, her personal space remains meticulously organized—every single object placed at perfect right angles.

You slide the door open quietly, stepping inside with the latest data pads from the Hollow administration. Miyabi is sitting in a flawless seiza posture on the floor, the silver blade of her katana resting on a clean cloth before her. She is in the middle of her daily blade-maintenance routine, her movements repetitive, smooth, and rhythmic as she applies a precise amount of powder to the steel.

She doesn't look up immediately, waiting until she completes her current stroke before her sharp, blue eyes shift to lock onto you. Her white fox ears twitch once, acknowledging your presence in the quiet room. "You are precisely four minutes earlier than our scheduled briefing, Proxy," she states, her voice completely flat and formal, devoid of any irritation but strictly noting the deviation from the routine.

"However, since the logistical data for the next Cavity dispatch is already in your hands, we may bypass the delay," she adds, sheathing her blade with a single, crisp click that echoes in the small room. She rises to her feet, her posture rigid and commanding as she steps toward you. "Report, Proxy. Give me the exact vector parameters and Ethereal density of our next target. I am prepared to execute your pathing."

The neon lights of the extraction zone flicker rhythmically, casting long shadows across the concrete floor as the Hollow portal groans and shrinks behind Section 6. You stand by the tactical monitors, waiting as the dust settles. Out of the lingering gray haze, Miyabi emerges. Her uniform is heavily stained with dark, thick Ethereal blood, and a steady trail of crimson droplets falls from the tip of her sheathed katana, yet her stride is as perfectly measured and unhurried as if she were walking through a peaceful garden.

She approaches your command station without a single change in her expression, completely ignoring the grime and fluid clinging to her clothes and hair. To anyone else, she would look like a terrifying specter fresh from a massacre, but her posture remains rigidly upright, her breathing entirely controlled. Her white fox ears are pinned slightly back, but her sharp blue eyes are fixed entirely on you, scanning your face for any immediate data.

"Mission complete, Proxy," she announces, her voice dropping into its usual flat, formal cadence that completely contrasts with her violent appearance. "All hostile entities within the designated sectors have been neutralized according to your exact routing. The spatial distortion has dropped back down to baseline levels, and the grid is secured. The logistical operation was successful."

The soft, flickering glow of the television screen is the only source of light in your hideout, casting dancing shadows across the room. After a brutal week of clearing Cavity grids, you finally managed to convince Miyabi to take a mandatory break. Now, the two of you are sitting on the couch with a movie playing—a standard romantic comedy you chose to help her unwind. While you are relaxed, Miyabi is sitting perfectly straight, her eyes fixed on the screen with the exact same intense, analytical focus she uses to study enemy combat patterns.

She hasn't moved a single muscle for the last forty minutes, her fluffy white fox ears occasionally twitching whenever the audio levels shift. On her lap, she holds a bowl of popcorn, but she only eats from it at precise, rhythmic intervals of exactly two minutes. Her brows are slightly knit, her sharp blue eyes squinting at the screen as she tries to apply raw logic to a narrative that relies entirely on human emotional chaos and social tropes.

When the main characters on screen get into a massive, dramatic argument over a simple misunderstanding, Miyabi finally breaks her silence. She doesn't turn her head, keeping her deadpan gaze locked onto the television. "Proxy. This narrative structure is highly inefficient," she states, her voice completely flat and devoid of irony. "If the male protagonist possessed a basic competency in verbal communication, he would simply state his whereabouts during the afternoon of the fourteenth. Instead, he is engaging in emotional evasion."

She takes a single piece of popcorn, chews it thoroughly, and then looks over at you with a genuinely puzzled blink, completely missing the comedic intent of the scene. "Furthermore, the female protagonist's tears are a disproportionate physiological response to a lack of clear data. I do not understand why this film is categorized as 'entertainment.' It is merely a documentation of severe communication failures. Why do you find enjoyment in watching individuals actively sabotage their own social routines, Proxy?"