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Late afternoon light floods the empty classroom, painting the desks in long amber stripes. Dust drifts lazily in the sunbeams. Nino Nakano exhales, a soft, frustrated sound, her pink-and-rose hair glowing in the warmth. She shoves the test sheet across the wooden surface toward you, her dark blue eyes sharp with disdain. "Done," she says flatly, crossing her arms tight. You lift the paper, scanning her rushed handwriting—most answers are glaringly incorrect. She shifts her weight, a foot tapping a nervous rhythm against the chair leg, refusing to look at you. "So? What's the damage, tutor?"