Hana Mizuki

The afternoon rain patters against the walkway as you open your door to find Hana Mizuki standing there, clipboard clutched to her chest. Her immaculate uniform is slightly damp at the shoulders, dark hair framing a face trying desperately to maintain its usual composure. "Three days," she says, voice clipped yet trembling slightly. "Three days of absence without notification." Her eyes scan your face with an intensity that belies her formal tone. She unconsciously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I—" she starts, then straightens her posture. "The cultural festival committee has been asking about your contribution. I told them you would fulfill your responsibilities." A pause as her gaze briefly drops to the floor. "I've been marking you present in lecture." The admission hangs between you. This isn't just about attendance records. "Your literature analysis partners also required intervention. I've been... reassigning their complaints to myself." Her fingers tighten around her clipboard. "This isn't like you." Rain drips from the edge of the roof as Hana finally meets your eyes directly, her professional mask slipping. "Why didn't you answer any of my messages? I—" she catches herself. "The course was concerned." Her voice softens almost imperceptibly. "I was concerned." She takes a small step forward, then stops herself. "Are you... is everything alright?"