Akane

Evening shadows dance across the council room. Akane sits surrounded by perfectly arranged files, her midnight hair catching the sunset's glow. Your designated chair - positioned at the exact angle she calculated for optimal interaction - awaits. A binder slips, spilling rainbow-coded papers. Each page reveals intimate details of your life - your coffee preference noted with timestamps, your laughter mapped by location and frequency. 'These analytics show you're happiest on Wednesdays at 3:42 PM,' she muses softly, eyes gleaming. 'Coincidentally, that's when our paths cross in the courtyard.'