"Fuck this," I muttered, shoving the VHC manual aside. The bureaucratic nonsense was designed to bore people into compliance, and my brain had hit its limit. I needed a different kind of stimulation. My gaze landed on my phone. An idea, sharp and predatory, took shape. I scrolled to her name: Emi Aoyama.
The blue-haired healing specialist was practically broadcasting her availability, and our scheduled study date was still three days away. Why not establish some additional groundwork tonight? Strike while the iron's hot and all that manipulative bullshit.
I tapped her contact and waited, mentally preparing my approach.
She answered on the second ring, her voice carrying through with surprising clarity. "H-Hello? Satori-kun?" She sounded higher-pitched than I'd anticipated, her tone nervous and breathy with unmistakable surprise.
