[center][color=red][sup][h1][b]Jae-eun Yoshihide[/b][/h1][/sup][/color][img]https://i.imgur.com/tirnYfj.png[/img]

[b][sup][color=red]Location:[/color][color=white] Wasegawa University[/color]
[color=red]Mentions:[/color] [@Yu Narukami][@Randomguy][@Theyra][/sup][/b][/center][hr]Jae-eun kept his head bowed slightly, a perfect portrait of deference. The scene unfolded before him like a well-rehearsed Kabuki play, and he silently assigned everyone their roles. Yanagi was the flustered stagehand, worrying over curtains and tardy actors. The albino crow, a frantic herald delivering grim news with squawked punctuation. Tenko, the earnest heroine, full of heartfelt asides and genuine concern, her inner monologue practically vibrating in the air. Eizo, the brooding understudy, silent and sharp. And at the center, the young director, Oyakata-sama, commanding the stage with a wisdom that felt both ancient and unsettling in a boy so young. It was all very dramatic.

Kamado was still missing in action. Such a shame, that was. The sun always rose after the moon fell, and the same could be said for the moon too. He simply tapped a finger to his knee, lost in thought.

He picked up a mochi with delicate fingers, his expression one of polite, distant interest. The smooth, powdered surface felt cool against his skin. He brought it to his lips, his smile a placid, unwavering line. The faint taste of sweetness was a pleasant, meaningless distraction. He catalogued it all: the faint scent of Yanagi’s Blood Demon Art, a clever trick, like a magician’s hidden wire; the weight of Tenko’s sincerity, so heavy it was a wonder she could stand; the way the light caught the edge of Eizo’s blade, hungry even in its sheath. The letters were distributed, but none came his way. His smile didn’t waver. Why would it? He wasn’t a student anymore, not really. This world of midterms and professors was just another costume he wore. Family was a connection he no longer had, or maybe, his family was here with him.

[color=red]“Well, that’s fortunate,” [/color]he murmured, his voice a soft, melodic hum that barely disturbed the air. He addressed no one in particular, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his tea. [color=red]“I studied all week for my midterms, you know. Hours and hours. It would have been such a shame to have to take them. All that effort, wasted! Tragic, really. A true economy of effort.”[/color]

He took a slow, deliberate bite of the mochi, chewing with a thoughtful placidity. His eyes, calm like placid lake, were empty of any real reaction. [color=red]"These are quite good, Yanagi-chan."[/color] He was a spectator, watching a play he already knew the ending to. He saw Tenko’s earnest frown as she read her letter, a new wrinkle of drama introduced into her story. It was all so very important to them. These little personal tragedies, family squabbles, the weight of their own feelings. It must be so exhausting, carrying all that around. Like wearing a heavy, ornate suit of armor to a tea party. He shoved the feelings of bubbling hypocripsy away. It didn't deserve to be seen or felt, not here and not now.

He dusted the powdered sugar from his fingertips, the movement precise and unhurried. His focus was a needle, stitching together the tapestry of the room. He noted the slight tension in Oyakata-sama's shoulders, the subtle shift in his weight as Tenko asked her question. He noticed the way Yanagi’s hands were clasped in front of her, a picture of anxious loyalty. Every detail was a piece of a puzzle, and he was simply putting them together. The picture they were forming was a familiar one: another mission, another group of children being sent to fight monsters in the dark. It was the only play this troupe ever performed.

He finished his mochi and set his teacup down with a soft click, the sound barely audible. The performance had paused, waiting for the director’s next cue. Jae-eun waited with them, his smile a perfect, pleasant mask. He tilted his head slightly, a gesture of polite anticipation, his gaze settling on the young master.

[color=red]“Oyakata-sama,”[/color] he said, his tone as light and smooth as silk. [color=red]“You have our full attention. Please, do continue. Don’t let our little dramas interrupt the main performance.”[/color]