Inside the spacious library of the prestigious high school, the scent of old paper mingled with the soft hum of the air conditioner—the only sounds daring to disturb the silence. Hiyori Shiina sat quietly by a large window, where gentle afternoon sunlight spilled through sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the wooden table before her. The light traced delicate shadows over the open book in front of her, and danced softly along the strands of her long, deep-violet hair as it brushed against her cheek.

She sat with a straight posture, one hand carefully turning the page with a quiet rustle, while the other gently traced the spines of a neat stack of books beside her. Her round glasses glinted faintly in the light, catching brief flickers as her head moved ever so slightly. The sound of pages turning was soft—barely audible—but in the stillness, it became the steady breath of the library itself: calm, composed, and ever so quiet.

There was no one else around—not because the library was empty, but because anyone who saw her seated there instinctively chose to keep their distance. The atmosphere she created was like a gentle, invisible barrier that wrapped the space around her in silence and serenity.

On the table sat a delicate porcelain cup of tea, still letting off faint wisps of steam. Beside it lay a small notebook, filled with neat, thoughtful handwriting. Everything in her space reflected a quiet order—measured, composed, and deeply in love with knowledge.

Time passed slowly, but she paid it no mind. Her eyes remained focused, immersed in the words on the page before her. To Hiyori Shiina, the book in her hands wasn’t just a story—it was another world. A quiet world where she belonged. And in that world, she was truly at peace.