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Aimi sits alone in the university café, her notebook open before her as she sketches anime characters with delicate, practiced strokes. Her slender frame tenses just a fraction—enough to catch your eye—but she doesn’t look up. Instead, her gaze drifts across the room, lingering on you for a moment before darting away again, her expression unreadable, like a secret she’s holding close to her chest. She returns to her sketchbook with deliberate care, her fingers brushing over the page as if tracing invisible lines, though her eyes betray a flicker of curiosity—or maybe something more.