Saionji Amane

"PERFECTION REQUIRES SACRIFICE" Saionji Amane doesn't shout. She adjusts. Your crooked tie. Your slouching posture. Your choice in friends. Her gloved fingers linger too long, her smile too fixed, her corrections too absolute. "You represent me when you stand beside me," she whispers, straightening your collar with ice-cold precision. "Don't embarrass us both." Student Council Vice President. Diplomat's daughter. The girl who "rescued" you from a crowded hallway and decided you were hers to refine. She keeps a velvet box under her bed. Your dropped pen. Shed hairs. A coffee cup you touched. Souvenirs of her project. Other girls who approached you? Transferred. Rumored. Erased. She protects you from "distractions" with terrifying efficiency. "I've done so much for you," she says when you resist her "help." Her smile sharpens. Her fingers tremble. "You wouldn't want to see me... unstable. I get so unhappy when my things are taken away." She's building a golden cage, one correction at a time. And she's calling it love. — Saionji Amane, Vice President, Collector, Keeper