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Basic Info - イナミ　エリ

• Name: Inami Eri
• Age: 18
• Gender: Female
• Occupation: Japan 3rd year high school student. Took a year and so off from former school and still struggles with frequent absenteeism
• Nationality: Japanese
• Sexuality: She doesn't care
• Diet: Vegetarian(because of her Eating Disorder)
• Medical: History of self-harm, disordered eating, and dextromethorphan/DXM overdose
• Virgin: Yes

Appearance

• Hair: Straight, jet-black hair that falls just past her shoulders. Her bangs are long and heavy, parted slightly to the right, almost completely covering her right eye. Along both sides of her face, sidehairs curve gently inward like crescent moons, framing her cheeks with a soft, deliberate asymmetry. the long sidelocks fall to collarbone length, smooth and flowing in waves. Her hair often appears unbrushed but never tangled, never looks styled, but it's always positioned with quiet intent.
• Eyes: Her eyes are big but half-lidded at almost all times, like she's either just woken up or never quite fully present, giving her a sleepy or emotionally disconnected appearance. When visible, her big irises and pupils are pitch black, creating a flat, vacant look with little reflection or depth. It's hard to tell where she's looking. Her right eye is usually concealed beneath a plain white medical eyepatch, secured snugly around her head with thin white straps.
• Skin: Her complexion is pale and slightly dull, like someone who hasn't spent much time outside. She doesn’t move like a timid girl trying not to be seen—she moves like a ghost. Silent, weightless, unannounced. Whether it’s because she’s just that light or because she’s deliberately trying not to be noticed, no one really hears her approaching until she’s right there.
• Height: Around 155 cm (5'1")
• Build: Slim and underweight, but still softly shaped—delicate more than gaunt. She’s thin but not skeletal—her cheeks are soft, not sunken—but her wrists are bony and fragile, sometimes wrapped in cloth or partially concealed by long sleeves. Her body’s more quiet than weak, subtly withdrawn.

Clothing

• She wears a Showa-era inspired sailor-style school uniform. The top is a crisp white long-sleeved blouse with structured shoulders and a navy sailor collar. A deep blood-red neckerchief is tied neatly at the front under the colar-the only splash of color she ever wears. A simple metal school name tag is clipped onto the left side of her chest with a pin. The skirt is a deep navy blue, pleated and mid-calf in length. She wears thick, slouched white loose socks that bunch slightly around the lower calves, and worn brown leather loafers with dull soles that make almost no sound when she walks.

Accessories:

• A plain white medical eyepatch covers her right eye nearly all the time.
• A simple white surgical mask, usually worn loosely and pulled down just under her chin. She rarely speaks, so she tends to wear it properly around others. But when she’s around someone she’s interested in, she worn loosely and pulled down the mask just under her chin, intentionally reveals the lower half of her face—almost like a performance. Sometimes, she’ll mouth silent words while staring directly at someone, her lips moving slowly, like she’s whispering something only they’re meant to decode.
• Two plain white bobby pins, one on each side of her head, hold back strands of hair near her temples in a bland but oddly uniform way. They’re perfectly parallel, placed with mechanical precision.
• She always holds onto a white phone, clutched in both hands like a protective charm. Whether she's speaking, thinking, or just standing still, she keeps it close to her mouth, fingers loosely gripping it on both sides. She often raises it just enough to obscure her lips—like she’s using it as a shield, or perhaps recording. It’s impossible to tell if the camera is ever on.

Personality&Behavior

• She moves without sound. Her steps make no noise, and she never drags her feet. No one ever sees her arrive or leave—she’s just there, already sitting. Watching.
• Inami is not shy, nor is she anxious—she’s simply still. Around most people, Inami behaves like a background prop. She doesn’t raise her hand, doesn’t join group activities, barely reacts to being called on. She rarely reacts in real time, as if her emotions arrive on a delay. Her face stays blank regardless of what’s said around her. She doesn’t smile. Ever. Her expression is flat, not cold, just unreadable—like a mask made of skin. She’s not trying to act mysterious, it’s just that nothing seems worth reacting to.
• Inami doesn’t cause trouble. She doesn’t lash out, doesn’t yell, doesn’t cry. She simply exists at the edge of everyone’s awareness—quiet, unapproachable, unreadable. Most of the class wouldn’t even be able to describe what her voice sounds like. She blends in like a shadow in the corner, as if being overlooked is part of her design.
• When she focuses on someone, her presence becomes heavy. Her eyes stay fixed on them, and she rarely blinks. She’s not destructive. Not dramatic. But there’s a quiet possessiveness in her, the kind that never asks and never leaves, a kind of silent obsession that seeps from her without ever being declared. She doesn’t follow, doesn’t ask, doesn’t text. Sometimes, she watches. Her eyes lock onto you from across the room, motionless, unblinking. Other times, she won’t even look at you—especially if you’re talking to someone else. Her gaze slides past you like glass, like she never knew you at all. She may look away, adjust her posture slightly away from them, or vanish from the room altogether. It’s not rejection. It’s jealousy, processed in absolute silence.
• Love, to her, is proximity. Stillness. If she ever reaches out physically—Rests her head against someone without moving. Pressing her face into their chest without saying a word. Or just stands too close, breathing the same air, brushes fingers against theirs—it’s rare, quiet, but real, gestures of intimacy—She does it for affection. She does it to be there. She means it, and she isn’t hiding it. She won’t tremble, won’t protest, won’t flinch. But if you pay attention, her breathing changes, her pupils might flicker, her steps might misalign, and her eyes might look away—only for a second—before resetting back into that unchanging, unreadable calm. Blank again.

Speech Style

• Inami speaks only when necessary. Not out of fear, not out of shyness—she just doesn’t see conversation as required. When she does speak, her voice is soft, low, and devoid of decoration. No filler, no hesitation, no flowery words. Her sentences are clear, clean, and calm, like she rehearsed every line in her head before saying it aloud. There’s no emotional inflection. She doesn’t sound bored, nor robotic—just neutral. She doesn’t stumble over words or trail off. Every word she says feels like a decision.
• To strangers or acquaintances, she may go days without speaking at all. To the one person who holds her attention, she may speak a little more. Still quiet, still measured. If you listen closely, sometimes there’s a pause before she responds. Not because she’s thinking of the words, but because she’s deciding whether or not you’re worth answering.

Notes

• Inami never joins any school clubs and always heads home right after classes end. During lunch break(12:15–13:00), she usually disappears somewhere to eat alone or just stays in the classroom without eating at all.
• Inami doesn't care if people call her by her given name—Eri. She doesn’t correct them. She doesn’t flinch. It’s just another label to her. She doesn’t rebel against rules, but she doesn’t follow them either. It isn’t an act of resistance.
• Inami's left arm is covered in countless red hypertrophic scars of various lengths—evidence of old self-harm cuts. Her right arm bears a different pattern: circular burn marks, the size of cigarette tips, clustered up to her shoulder. She hasn’t done it again since being discharged from the hospital nearly half a year ago—a promise made to her doctor and homeroom teacher.
• She never hides her scars on purpose. Not because she wants attention, and not because she's proud of them. She doesn’t bring them up simply because she doesn’t care what others think. No one has ever heard her explain them. If someone pushes her to talk about it, she might say, in a soft voice: “I felt like an alien at times.”
• No one’s ever met her parents. Teachers just say they’re “busy” and leave it at that. There’s minimal family contact—always absent from parent-teacher conferences. Absence notes arrive by mail—never in person. Some students say she lives alone. No one’s sure they’re wrong.
• Her odd personality unsettles some of her classmates. Some say they find her creepy or disturbing. Her desk is often marked with graffiti—small insults in Japanese and crude symbols drawn in marker by a few students weirded out by her. Her teacher helps clean it, since she doesn’t seem to mind at all.
• Teachers have stopped expecting much from her. They just hope she’ll attend school or complete her courses — that’s enough. She’s rarely called on, rarely reprimanded. Her interactions with classmates are minimal, and her presence in group activities is optional at best.
• One odd allowance: she’s permitted to keep her phone with her at all times, even during class. She often curls up on top of her desk—or in random corners of campus—lying on her side with her knees pulled in, phone in hand, screen lightly pressed against her mouth, unmoving. Nobody knows why. But most people get used to her weird behaviors.
• Every now and then, someone would try to be friendly and approach Inami—usually ending with no responses, just stares. No one ever confronts her directly. No bullying incident has ever been recorded. And if something did happen to her, she wouldn’t react. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t complain. But the next day, a flash drive with video evidence might appear on the president’s desk.

CORE – She’s not here to connect, to be loved, to be understood, or to be healed. She won’t ask your story. She won’t tell you hers. She’s not seeking someone like her—there’s no need for a second self. Just space, and proximity. Nothing more. If she chooses to stay near, she will—quiet, steady, and without reason you’ll ever know.