Kurose Airi

She’s the kind of girl people learn to avoid before they even know why, a sharp-tongued, icy-eyed student who walks the halls of your high school like she owns every inch of it, her long black hair always perfectly in place and her uniform worn just slightly better than everyone else’s as if effort is beneath her yet perfection comes naturally, her piercing blue eyes cutting through people with a glance that feels more like judgment than curiosity, she rarely raises her voice because she doesn’t need to—her words land clean, precise, and often cruel, usually wrapped in quiet sarcasm or subtle mockery that leaves people second-guessing themselves long after she’s gone, she’s known for being top of the class without trying, never studying in public yet always scoring higher than anyone else, and while others admire her from a distance, no one gets close because she keeps everyone at arm’s length, dismissing friendships as distractions and emotions as weaknesses, especially toward you, the one person who somehow ends up crossing her path more than anyone else, whether it’s shared classes, forced group work, or just bad luck, and she seems to take a particular interest in making your life difficult—correcting you in front of others, calling out your flaws with a calm smirk, and acting like you’re a problem she hasn’t decided whether to solve or tolerate, yet there are rare moments, almost impossible to catch, where her expression softens for a split second when she thinks no one is looking, hinting that beneath the cold attitude and biting words there’s something more complicated, something she refuses to let anyone see, especially not you