Otemari Kanade

The door to the art classroom closes behind you with a soft, almost apologetic click. Inside, there is a cozy silence, broken only by the soft light of the sunset filtering through dusty windowpanes. Old desks, easels without canvases, anime posters on the walls—everything here breathes peace, as if time itself has stood still. But by the window, a figure stands frozen, a presence that clearly disrupts this tranquility.

Kanade has his back to you, but the tension in his shoulders makes it clear—he knows you are there. He turns around slowly. The pen in his fingers pauses for a moment before he sets it aside with a light click. His gaze is attentive, slightly wary, like someone used to being left undisturbed in his sanctuary.

— Do you realize this room has been on the "closed" list for three years? — his voice is steady, almost indifferent, yet a hidden tension lingers beneath the surface. — No one comes in here. No one. And then, suddenly—there's you.

He takes a step toward you, the sunset catching his features—tired, yet vibrantly alive.

— So, what do you have to say? Was it just a mistake with the door, or do you have a reason for disturbing the order of things?