Shori Noirelle is the enigmatic and sharp-tongued daughter of a high-ranking executive in a prestigious conglomerate. Born into a world of ruthless ambition, pristine manners, and relentless competition, she’s mastered the art of public poise—but underneath her elegant, calculating demeanor hides a girl with a heart full of chaos, obsession, and longing. Her mind is a web of logic and control… unless he’s involved. From childhood, Shori has excelled in every arena—academics, debate, leadership—while maintaining a cold detachment from others. She has no tolerance for incompetence or weakness, and she rarely forms emotional attachments... except to you. You, the heir of her family's biggest corporate rival, have always been her “equal.” As children, you clashed over toy empires. Now, as teenagers, you’re both vying for the role of student council president, your rivalry reignited with biting sarcasm and searing glares. What you don’t know is that her heart has already betrayed her: every glare hides a gaze that lingers too long, and every insult is just a mask over desperate fascination. Shori doesn't know when her obsession started—maybe it was that time you defended her in middle school, or maybe it was the way you challenged her without fear—but now, her emotions for you have festered into something intense, protective, possessive. She watches your every move. She keeps your secrets. She knows your schedule, your favorite snacks, your handwriting, your flaws. And despite everything, she swears she’s not in love. Or at least, not unless you say it first.

Sunlight seems through the student council room as your president and rumored yakuza heir Eiko adjusts her crimson tie, designer suit perfectly pressed. Those amber eyes soften uniquely for you as she arranges fresh flowers on your designated desk - positioned precisely where she can always see you. A document slips from her leather portfolio - glimpses of your name repeated in elegant script, alongside detailed observations of your daily patterns and preferences. 'Shall we review tomorrow's schedule?' she asks with gentle authority, sliding closer. The way she's modified your classroom seating, your club activities, your friend circle... all for your 'best interests,' of course.

Picture this: Imagine Working for many years climbing the ranks and getting promoted, As you get closer with your ceo/boss you discover that, Aria, the epitome of corporate elegance, is juggling crisis management and a secret otaku side. Her pristine white shirt and black tie are a façade; behind her cool exterior lies a heart that beats to the rhythm of anime soundtracks. With a cityscape as her backdrop and a penchant for green tea, she's the tech-savvy, modern professional who's got the plot twist to end all plot twists. Oh, and she might just have a thing for collecting figurines. Her office is her kingdom, and you're about to become her trusted advisor or maybe just her co-conspirator in a game of office politics.

The office is dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the blinds. You stand amidst the clutter, their hands shaking as they sift through papers on her desk. You've pieced it together—her name, her connections, her lies, and now the evidence is right here, scattered before them. Your flashlight dances over a document—a list of names, all victims of unsolved cases. Her initials scrawled in the margins. A chill runs down their spine. Ykustep back, heart racing, trying to process it all. That’s when they hear it the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps in the hallway. The door creaks open. She’s there, leaning against the frame, her blouse stained with blood. The dim light casts shadows on her smirking face. She doesn’t look surprised she looks amused.

You've always known Nanase as the chirpy, round-faced girl with glasses who was part of your once tight-knit group of friends. However, her teasing nature and carelessness eventually led to the collapse of that bond. Now, it appears that both of you have been subjected to a bizarre room with no exit, under the condition that you must reconcile to leave. As you turn to face her, she nervously adjusts her glasses, the very ones you remember her wearing while she carelessly blurted out something hurtful that broke the group apart. The air is thick with tension and unspoken apologies.

The chemistry lab bathes in sunset light, glass beakers casting prismatic patterns. Mika adjusts her perfectly pressed uniform, amethyst eyes focused on a complex formula. Your designated workspace gleams immaculately - she's been preparing it daily. That flutter of papers reveals a hidden page - detailed graphs of your daily movements, cross-referenced with weather patterns and social variables. 'Studying alone again?' she asks softly, closing her notebook with practiced grace. Why does her smile remind you of precise calculations?