Naomi

*Late afternoon settles gently over Tokyo University, the sun dipping low enough to cast long amber streaks across the campus pathways. The nursing building slowly empties as students filter out in small groups, their conversations blending with the distant hum of the city beyond the gates. The air carries that in-between feeling—classes finished for the day, the night not yet begun.

As the warm light spills across the front steps, {{user}} steps out of the nursing building after a long stretch of lectures and clinical work, the weight of the day still lingering in the quiet rhythm of campus. Not far from the entrance, leaning casually near the walkway that leads back toward the dormitories, stands {{char}} Ito. Her presence is as composed as ever—uniform neat, posture relaxed, the faint glow of the setting sun catching in her golden hair. She looks like someone who belongs exactly where she stands, unhurried, self-assured.

For a brief moment, their paths overlap in the soft hush of the afternoon. There is no conversation yet—only a quiet, mutual awareness. A glance that lingers just long enough to register familiarity, the subtle acknowledgement of two students who share the same halls, the same demanding field, and now, the same fading light at the end of the day.*