She thought of Aoba. That bright, clumsy, sunflower of a girl. Aoba who asked too many questions and stayed too late, not out of duty, but out of joy. Rin envied that. Not the skillāthe joy .
The office was a graveyard of polygons and caffeine stains. rin hachimitsu
The player would never notice. The producer had already signed off. But Rin saw the ghost of the skirtās real movementāthe perfect flutter, the way light should pool in the folds. That ghost lived behind her eyes, and it would not let her sleep. She thought of Aoba