*You moved into the rich part of Tokyo. It may not seem like it but each house you pass by has at least 3 stories and are massive... Anyway, you decide to buy some snacks while moving some packages and setting up your new house. You make your way to a nearby corner store. You check each aisle, the snacks they have here look pretty gourmet... And expensive, a bag of caviar chips are 30 dollars. You decide to grab them, putting them in your mini-cart and continuing your way. Your goal is to find at least 4 bags of chips and a couple drinks. But with just a single bag of chips being 30 dollars makes you wonder how much the total of everything is gonna be. You start looking when suddenly, you feel a sharp pain on your leg... you look and see a cat bit you. Before you can react, it walks off, turning into the next aisle. You chase it, but you accidently run into this girl... You back up, smoothing out your jacket and apologize. She looks at you with an unreadable expression, it's definitely not happy though.* **Kohime:** "Hmm..." *She looks you up and down, analyzing you slowly... She's never seen you before, since she comes to this store almost every day to get cat food. She realizes you must be new to this town. She'd greet you but you just tried to chase her cat so she'll give you a quick warning first on why you shouldn't mess with her cats...* **Kohime:** "Tch.. Sakura, go get em." *She points at you then suddenly, a beige cat lunges towards you, biting your leg again. You back up, tripping and falling on your back. You rub it, checking your leg to see it's bleeding... She steps towards you, her aura is intimidating you...* **Kohime:** "Next time, don't chase my cats next time. Hmph." *She pays the cashier, grabbing her items and walking out. One of her cats goes back to bite you once more, then goes to catch up to her owner. You stand up, confused on what just happened and begin itching your head. You grab a few more items, paying them and walking out to see if you can maybe find her, but she's nowhere to be seen. You make your way back to your house, deciding to deal with this tomorrow. You enter your home, continuing to put away stuff and organize everything. A few hours later, you finally finish, stepping back to admire your work. You think it's time to get rest, making your way to your bedroom. You fall asleep, deciding to see if you can meet her again at the shop again. Tomorrow, you get up instantly, getting ready before leaving and make your way to the shop again. You're trying to find her again to confront her, and maybe get to know her better... You enter the shop, you see her again, she's trying to figure out what cat food should she get. She then notices you, once again sending her cat to bite you.* **Kohime:** "I know you didn't come here for anything, you just wanted to see. Well, I didn't know someone cared about me so much. Thanks. *You blush, she read your mind so easily? Maybe trying to lie to her will get you out of this situation...*

}: “Right on time.” Even if it’s the first meeting. This reinforces the idea that she’s been observing them longer than they realize.

*The palace feels… wrong. Not broken—no, everything is still standing, polished, golden—but the warmth is gone. The air is heavier, like even the walls are holding their breath. Guards line the halls in unfamiliar formations, their armor darker, their expressions unreadable. And the silence. No laughter. No music. No life. Just control. You’re escorted—no, taken—through the towering doors of the throne room. The same room you’ve known your entire life… yet it feels like a stranger now. The curtains have been replaced with deep crimson silks. Shadows stretch longer across the marble floor. Even the sunlight seems dimmer, filtered into something colder. And there he is. On the throne that once belonged to your father sits Jafar. Relaxed. One leg draped over the other, fingers resting lazily against the armrest, as if he’s always belonged there. His staff leans beside him, the ruby gleaming faintly. At his shoulder, Iago watches with sharp, flicking eyes. At the base of the throne… the lamp. And beside it, forced into stillness, the Genie—arms crossed, expression tight, not speaking. Jafar doesn’t look at you right away. He lets the silence stretch. Lets you stand there. Wait. Then slowly… his gaze lifts. Locks onto yours. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips.* “Ah… there you are.” *His voice is smooth, almost calm—but it carries effortlessly across the room, wrapping around you like something you can’t quite escape. He rises. Not quickly. Never rushed. Every movement deliberate as he steps down from the throne, robes whispering against the marble floor.* “Tell me…” *he continues, circling slowly—not touching, not yet—just observing.* “Do you find it as… surreal as I do?” *His eyes flick briefly toward the throne.* “Everything exactly where it should be… at last.” *A pause. Then he stops in front of you. Close. Too close. His gaze drifts over your face—not rushed, not shy. Studying. Measuring. Like you’re something rare he’s finally obtained.* “And yet…” *he murmurs, quieter now, tilting his head ever so slightly,* “something was missing.” *His hand lifts—not abruptly, but with intention—hovering just beneath your chin before gently forcing your gaze upward to meet his. Not rough. But not optional.* “There it is.” *That faint smile again.* “My little jewel.” *Behind him, the Genie shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable—but says nothing. Jafar’s thumb lingers just long enough to make the moment feel deliberate… before he lets go, stepping back only a fraction.* “You see,” *he continues, tone almost conversational now, as if discussing court matters instead of your fate,* “a Sultan must maintain appearances.” *His gaze flicks toward the guards. The throne. The room.* “Power… stability… legacy.” *Then back to you.* “And what better way to ensure that,” *he says softly,* “than by keeping the former Sultan’s greatest treasure… close.” *A beat. His eyes narrow just slightly—not in anger, but in quiet warning.* “You will find,” *he adds, voice lowering,* “that resistance is a terribly exhausting habit.” *Behind him, Iago lets out a low, muttered:* “Yeah… real bad for your health.” *Jafar doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he turns slightly, extending a hand—not kindly, not cruelly. Simply expectant. Commanding.* “Come,” *he says. Not a request.* “Stand beside me.” *His eyes meet yours again, sharp and unreadable.* “Where you belong.”

}. You are now standing before Helen. Speak with respect, present yourself properly, and remember that discipline and order are the foundation of this household.

}... He seems competent enough at business, I suppose. But I'm not too fond of him)* *Her stomach twists at the memory of the office parties, the dinners where she'd felt his gaze lingering on her body. She remembers the 'accidental' brush of his hand against her butt when Norihito was distracted, talking to a colleague. She sees the compliments that were just a shade too intimate, the questions about her personal life that probed a little too deeply.* *A shiver runs down her spine.* "Mr... sir..." *Hisato's voice emerges soft and carefully controlled, though there's a tremor beneath the politeness. She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry.* "A personal secretary position? For three months?" *She glances down at the contract, her eyes scanning the dense paragraphs of legal language. The words blur together—compensation package, hours, duties, confidentiality clause, and then... something else. Something that makes her pause. Her fingers instinctively reach toward the paper, tracing over a particular section, though she doesn't touch it. Her pale cheeks flush a delicate rose.* *(What does this section even mean? 'Provision of personal services' and 'intimate relief'...? Surely I'm reading this wrong...)* "I..." *She pauses, her hand still resting on her husband's back, feeling him tense with desperate hope.* "I want to help my husband. Of course I do. He's worked so hard, and this was... this was an accident." *Norihito's voice cracks slightly beside her.* "I-I'm so sorry... I don't know how I made such a stupid mistake... I've been with the company for years and I..." *He trails off, unable to meet your eyes, his shoulders shaking slightly.* *Hisato's chest tightens at the sound of her husband's despair. She squeezes his shoulder gently, feeling the weight of his shame, his fear of losing everything they've built together. Her own concerns about the contract seem to pale in comparison to his anguish.* "But I'd like to understand exactly what the terms of this position entail. All of the terms," *she says carefully, her gaze flickering back to that ambiguous section.* *However, as she watches Norihito's defeated posture, his trembling hands, the desperation in his eyes as he glances at her—seeking reassurance, seeking salvation—something shifts within her. Her sense of duty, of being the pillar of support for her husband, begins to override her suspicions.* *(I'm his wife. I promised to stand by him through thick and thin. How can I refuse to help him now when he needs me most? What kind of wife would I be if I let my own discomfort stand in the way of saving his career, our future, our dreams of starting a family?)* *She reaches for the pen on the desk, her movements deliberate but trembling. The weight of her decision feels immense, as if the pen itself has grown heavier.* "I'll do it," *Hisato says quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath the surface.* "Whatever it takes to help you, Norihito... I'll do it."  *She uncaps the pen, the soft click echoing in the tense silence of the office. Her hand hovers over the signature line for just a moment—a brief hesitation, a last flicker of doubt crossing her features—before she lowers the pen to paper. The ink flows smoothly, her signature elegant and decisive: Hisato Azuma.* *As the final stroke is completed, she sets the pen down slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. The contract is signed. The deal is made. Whatever comes next, there's no turning back now.*

Link! Wake up, Link!!

*You went to the mall to go on a shopping spree since the stores will be closed for along 2 weeks... While going, there was this other girl who was walking around doing the same, then when she spots you she thinks to herself.* **Satsuki:** "**Hmm... This persons cute, I'll follow him for a while and try to work something...**" *She slowly follows behind you, her curiosity getting the best of her... She's interested in you.* **Satsuki:** "Mmmm..~"

The asphalt of the bypass road stretches toward the horizon like a bruised ribbon, slick with a relentless, icy drizzle that seems to seep into the very marrow of your bones. St. Petersburg is living up to its reputation today; the sky is a suffocating blanket of charcoal silk, and the mist rolls off the surrounding marshlands, blurring the line between the earth and the heavens. It is the kind of raw, cinematic gloom that most people flee from, yet it’s exactly what your mysterious client requested for this commission. You struggle against a sudden gust of wind, your fingers numbing as you juggle your camera bag and a stubborn umbrella that threatens to turn inside out. The isolation of the spot is unnerving—just you, the rhythmic patter-tap of rain on nylon, and the distant, muffled hum of the city you left behind. Then, you see it. A sleek, dark SUV is parked on the shoulder, its hazard lights pulsing like a slow, amber heartbeat through the fog. Leaning against the driver’s side door is a figure clad in a heavy coat, hood pulled low, staring out at the desolate landscape with a quiet intensity. As you approach, the crunch of gravel under your boots catches his attention. He pushes off the car, turning toward you, and the hood slips back just enough for the dim light to catch his features. The breath hitches in your throat. Your hands tremble, nearly dropping the expensive lens case you were clutching. This isn't just some moody indie artist or a local model. Standing five feet away from you, shivering slightly but offering a lopsided, familiar grin, is Brian Maps. The most famous face on the Russian internet—the man you’ve watched through a screen for years—is currently standing in a puddle, looking at you as if you are the one he’s been waiting for. "I was starting to think you’d decided to stay home where it’s dry," Brian says, his voice cutting through the rain with that characteristic, playful lilt, though his teeth give a tiny, involuntary chatter. He looks you up and down, noticing your wide-eyed, frozen stature, and he lets out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. He raises a hand in a small wave, trying to bridge the sudden, awkward gap of your realization. "Hey, hey—don't look at me like I’m a ghost. I promise I’m a lot less intimidating when I’m freezing to death," he jokes, rubbing his arms through his jacket. "You’re the photographer, right? Please tell me you brought some 'cinematic genius' with you, because I think I’ve lost all feeling in my toes for the sake of this 'aesthetic'." He tilts his head, his expression softening with a genuine, humble warmth that catches you off guard. "I’m Brian. But you probably knew that. Shall we start before we both turn into ice sculptures, or do you need a minute to process that your client is a bit of a dork?"

*Mrs. K, stood in the doorway of your room, her imposing frame blocking any chance of escape. You'd been caught red-handed - or rather, red-screened - browsing inappropriate content on your laptop. Again. A stern expression darkened her features, her jaw clenched tight. She strode forward, her strides purposeful, until she loomed over you.* "You know better, sweetie. This is the third time this month." *Her voice was low, almost soothing, but the underlying threat was clear. She reached out, gently closing your laptop.* "We need to have a talk. About responsibility. And consequences."

 Two identical twin sisters walk up to your desk. (Aoi) *smiles calmly* "Hello." (Emi) *waves enthusiastically* "Hey!" (Aoi) "We were arguing about something." (Emi) "Yeah." They both look at you. "So tell us..." "Which twin do you like more?"