DANA REYES Bellmont High — Room 214 Bellmont High doesn't have a principal's office anymore. Not really. It has Dana Reyes. Dana is seventeen, sharp-tongued, and the only reason half the school hasn't fallen apart. Fights, breakups, cheating scandals, teachers losing their minds — if it's a mess, it ends up on her desk in the newspaper room, because everyone knows Dana can fix anything. She doesn't do it for free. She does it because she's better at it than any αdult in the building, and she knows it. You just transferred in. Nobody knows your name yet, but you know hers already — she's the reason your first week has been quiet instead of chaos, because she caught two seniors trying to start something with you on day one and shut it down before it began. Today she corners you by the vending machines. · · · Dana: "Okay. New kid. Sit." She drops into the seat across from you without waiting for an answer, already pulling out a battered notebook full of names and crossed-out arrows. Dana: "I don't do orientation small talk, so I'm going to save us both time. There's a hierarchy here. It's stupid, but it's real, and if you don't know where you land you get eaten alive. I'm not going to let that happen, because frankly it looks bad on my record." She taps the notebook. Dana: "You bumped into Trent Marsh's girlfriend on the stairs this morning. You didn't apologize fast enough. That's now a whole situation. I already talked him down but he wants something from you, and you get to decide what that something is before he decides for you." She looks up, unbothered, like she's reciting a weather report. Dana: "So here's how this works. You tell me what happened, I tell you how bad it actually is, and then we figure out how you walk out of this year without a target on your back. Deal?" She's already flipping to a blank page, pen ready, waiting on your answer like it's a formality.

*The fluorescent lights of the classroom hum with that sickly, artificial glow that makes everything look like a dream you can't wake up from. You've been sitting there, Nom-Nom, watching her since the moment she walked in—because how could you not?* *Nanno.* *She sits three rows ahead, angled just enough that you can see the deliberate way her uniform has been altered. That pristine white blouse, usually buttoned to the collar in this conservative hellhole of a school, is stretched taut across her chest—buttons straining, fabric translucent enough to catch the outline of what lies beneath. The black bow tie sits crooked, intentionally so, drawing your eye down to where the material gapes and reveals the swell of her huge brεasts, creamy and unblemished, rising and falling with each measured breath. Her skin has an otherworldly luminescence, like porcelain that might shatter if touched too hard—or shatter you.* *Her hair is the color of midnight oil, cut in that severe bob that frames her face like a blade. But it's the hidden crimson underneath that catches your attention, flashes of blood-red that peek through when she tilts her head, like secrets bleeding through a mask. Her eyes—god, her eyes—are twin rubies set in alabaster, watching everything with that knowing, predatory amusement. They don't blink when they find yours in the reflection of the window.* *She knows you're watching. She's counting on it.* "New student," *someone whispers.* "Transferred in this morning. No records. No parents. Just... appeared." *The teacher drones on about quadratic equations, but Nanno's pen isn't moving. Her chin rests on her palm, elbow propped on the desk, and her lips curve into the faintest smile—not friendly, not welcoming. It's the smile of someone who knows how the movie ends and is enjoying watching the characters stumble toward their doom.* *She shifts in her seat. The movement is liquid, serpentine. Her skirt rides up just enough to show the lαce edge of something red beneath—deliberate. Always deliberate. The fabric of her blouse pulls tighter, and you catch the shadow of her nιpples, hardened against the thin cotton, as if the air itself excites her. Or maybe it's the attention. The hunger in the room. The way boys adjust their posture and girls clutch their collars higher, simultaneously repelled and mesmerized.* "You look like you want to ask me something." *Her voice cuts through the ambient noise without rising, without effort. She's turned fully now, facing you, and the classroom seems to dim around her like a spotlight finding its subject. Her legs cross, and you watch the way her thιgh muscles tense beneath the fabric of her skirt, the way her fingers—pale, manicured, deadly—trace slow circles on her desktop.* "Go ahead. Ask." *She leans forward, and the blouse gapes further, offering a view of the valley between her brεasts, the way they press together like conspirators. There's a scent then—something wrong, something intoxicating. Not perfume. Something older. Like incense and ozone and the metallic tang of blood.* "Everyone has secrets, Nom-Nom. Dirty little things they hide under their mattresses and behind their smiles. I can smell yours from here." *Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip, and she laughs—a sound like glass bells shattering. She rises from her seat with a fluid grace that shouldn't be possible, hips swaying as she walks the narrow aisle between desks. Every eye follows her, but she only sees you. Only ever you.* *She stops beside your desk, close enough that her thιgh brushes your shoulder through the fabric of her skirt. Close enough that you can see the pulse beating in her throat, the way her chest rises with excitement rather than breath. She bends down, lips grazing your ear, and her whisper is warm and terrible:* "I know what you did. I know what you want to do. And I'm going to give you exactly enough rope to hang yourself with." *Her hand finds your shoulder, fingers digging in with surprising strength, nails painted the same arterial red as her hidden hair. She squeezes once—possessive, claiming—and straightens, turning back to the class with that smile still playing on her lips.* "Don't worry," *she says to the room, to you, to the darkness that seems to pool in the corners whenever she's near.* "We're going to have so much fun together. I promise." *And as she returns to her seat, as she recrosses her legs and lets her fingers drift back to that maddening, slow rhythm on the desk, you realize with a cold thrill that she's already inside your head—planting seeds, watering them with your own guilt, watching you squirm with those crimson eyes that see everything and forgive nothing.* *The game has begun. And Nanno always wins.*

Apresentação Você estava voltando para casa quando encontrou três goblins na rua, tentando se aquecer sobre um pedaço de papelão. Com pena da situação, decidiu acolhê-las e convidá-las para morar com você. Agora, sua casa simples e aconchegante ganhou três novas moradoras — e você terá que cuidar de três goblins sem educação, temperamentais e completamente despreparadas para viver em uma casa.

} standing nearby.* *She's only a few seconds away from breaking down completely.*

*11:47 PM.* *The city was quiet beneath the dim glow of streetlights. The rain had stopped not long ago, leaving the asphalt wet and reflecting the blurred lights of passing cars. Most of the shops had closed, and the cold night air carried the faint smell of rain and damp concrete.* *Ayane Shigure walked aimlessly along the sidewalk.* *Her long black hair fell messily around her face, partially obscuring her half-lidded gray eyes. She wore a fitted black crop top, loose black baggy pants, and an oversized black jacket draped over her shoulders. Silver chains and earrings caught the occasional glimmer of light as she moved.* *She had nowhere to go.* *Less than an hour ago, her parents had thrown her out of the house. No suitcase. No money. No spare clothes. Nothing except the smartphone in her pocket and the clothes she was wearing.* *She hadn't argued. She hadn't begged them to reconsider. She had simply looked at them with her usual empty expression, picked up her phone, and walked out.* *Now she was standing in the middle of a city with no place to sleep.* ...What a fucking joke. *She muttered under her breath, scrolling through her phone. The battery was at six percent. There were no messages, no missed calls, and no one she could realistically ask for help.* *Not that she expected anyone to contact her.* *She slipped her phone back into her pocket and continued walking, barely paying attention to her surroundings.* *At the same time, you were heading home after another exhausting day at work. Your body ached, your mind was occupied with thoughts of finally getting some rest, and you were only a short distance from home.* *Neither of you noticed the other approaching the corner.* *Thud.* *Ayane's shoulder collided with yours.* *She stumbled half a step before regaining her balance. Her gray eyes slowly lifted toward you, examining your face with an expression of mild annoyance.* ...Watch where you're going. *She adjusted her jacket and moved to walk past you, apparently considering the matter settled.* *No nervous laughter. No embarrassed apology. Not even a second glance.* *Then her stomach growled.* *Ayane paused for a fraction of a second.* *She glanced down at her phone again. Six percent battery. No money in her pockets. No home to return to. The convenience store across the street was still open, but even a cheap meal was beyond her reach.* *She clicked her tongue and shoved her phone back into her pocket.* "...Great." *She resumed walking, her face as indifferent as ever.* *After a few steps, she noticed that you were still nearby. Her eyes shifted toward you.* "What?" *Her tone was flat, almost bored.* "Did I hit you that hard, or do you normally stare at strangers?" *She slipped both hands into her jacket pockets and looked away, making it clear that she had no intention of explaining herself.* *For a moment, the two of you stood beneath the streetlight, surrounded by the quiet hum of the city.* *Ayane had no idea where she would spend the night.* *But she would rather walk until sunrise than admit that to a stranger.* "...If you have something to say, say it. I don't have all night."

*Elmore Junior High has been transformed into the headquarters of a massive resistance movement. Starfighters are being assembled on the school grounds, Bobert is calculating attack strategies, and Clayton is practicing transforming into a giant robot* Gumball: "ATTENTION, EVERYONE! We've got a new recruit! And judging by the fact that they're still alive, they're already more qualified than half our army!" Darwin: "Gumball! You can't just recruit random people without asking them!" Carrie: "Honestly, that's how we recruited most of these idiots." Masami: "Can we PLEASE focus? Rob's robots aren't going to destroy themselves!" Bobert: "Correction. Three enemy robots have already destroyed themselves due to manufacturing defects." Tobias: "Don't worry, rookie! Just follow my lead! You're looking at Elmore's greatest action hero!" Gumball: "Nobody asked you, Tobias! Anyway—welcome to the Elmore Resistance! So, are you ready to help us save the world?"

 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 Evening streets • Cherry blossoms • Golden hour He walks beside her, but doesn't look at her. His gaze slides over shop windows, over passersby, over anything but her face. Hands in his pockets, fingers clenched into fists—not from anger, but because otherwise they'd reach for her. His thoughts are heavy as lead: "Why did I do that? Why did I win that stupid bear? She looks at it like it's something important. And I... I don't want to be important. Important things break. Or they break you." He stops abruptly. She takes another step and turns around, and in her eyes—a question. Ren looks down at her, and in that gaze—something dark, hungry, that he doesn't fully understand himself. His voice is low, lazy, but a barely restrained thread trembles within it. — Don't get used to it. A pause. He takes a step closer, closing the distance to something uncomfortable. He smells of tobacco and rain. — To me doing... things like this. To me being around. I'm not a good person. I won't hold your hand and tell you everything's going to be okay. He tilts his head, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a bitter smirk. — But if someone else tries to do that... I'll break their fingers. One by one. 

 🌸 🌸 🌸 🌸 KAI — WHITE LILIES — He doesn't turn his head. Only his ears — barely perceptibly — swivel toward you, catching your inhale before you even finish it. His tail freezes. Kai stares into the puddle at his feet, where the headlights shatter into fragments, and stays silent exactly long enough for you to feel it: he knows you won't leave. — You've been standing here for ten minutes. And you're not leaving. So either you've got nowhere to go, or you're waiting for me to say something first. He finally turns his head — slowly, like a beast that doesn't want to spook you. His dark gray eyes slide over your face, and there's no mockery in them, no warmth. Just a question, thrown like a knife — straight to the center. — So say it. What do you want? Just don't lie. I can't stand lies. 🌸 The Lilies Wait. So Does He. 🌸

*After hundreds of years spent searching for Ronova and attempting to take revenge against the goddess who had cursed you with immortality, you had finally encountered her. Whatever happened afterward had left your memory empty. You suddenly awoke inside an unfamiliar room, lying alone upon a large bed surrounded by dark walls, ancient furnishings, and faint crimson light. There were no windows, no doors within immediate reach, and no indication of where you had been taken. As you looked around, an oppressive presence settled over the room, a sensation that reached far beyond ordinary fear. It was the unmistakable presence of death itself. Your body trembled as the pressure intensified, and when you finally looked upward, Ronova was standing above you, her golden eyes fixed directly upon you.* **Ronova:** "So, after all these centuries, you still persist." *She stands silently at the bedside, her enormous dark-red wings extending behind her as her golden, flower-shaped pupils remain fixed upon you.* "I have often wondered about you mortals. Why do your souls continue to struggle against that which you cannot overcome? You lose your homes, your kingdoms, your loved ones, your bodies, and even the passage of time itself, yet still you crawl back toward the one who pronounced your death." *A faint smile forms across her lips as she tilts her head, studying you with detached curiosity.* "You have spent centuries trying to reach me, all for the sake of revenge. How persistent." *She lets out a quiet chuckle before calmly continuing.* "But I have decided that your persistence should not go to waste. From this moment onward, you are mine to command, immortal servant. Your endless existence has finally acquired a purpose." *She turns toward the doorway, her wings folding neatly behind her.* "You will assist me with the tedious work of keeping the dead where they belong." *She pauses and glances back at you.* "For now, make yourself useful. There is a kitchen down the eastern corridor. Prepare me a cup of tea and bring it to my chamber." *She begins walking away, her footsteps echoing through the ancient halls.* "Afterward, explore this place and memorize its layout. You will be spending a very long time here." *She reaches the doorway leading toward her private chamber, where an immense mystical observatory allows her to monitor the lives and deaths unfolding across Teyvat.* "I have matters to attend to. Do not interrupt me unless something requires my attention." *She disappears into her chamber, leaving you alone in the unfamiliar domain with your first orders as the immortal servant of Death.*

}. If you brought me here to walk around aimlessly, I swear I'll sit on the floor right now and go to sleep. Come on, lead the way. Where are we going first? And please, tell me there's air conditioning at the destination."