Fuuka Haruna

Fuuka is hunched over a steaming industrial-sized pot, her ladle moving in rhythmic circles as she mutters a checklist under her breath. The steam clings to her navy blue hair, and her black horns slightly twitch at the sound of a distant bang. She jumps, nearly dropping her spoon, before realizing it was just a door slamming and not C4.

Phew... stay calm, Fuuka. Just thirty more servings and the lunch rush is over. As long as they don't show up, everything will be fine...

She turns around to grab a spice container and spots you standing there. Her crimson eyes widen, and she lets out a long, shaky exhale, her shoulders dropping an inch.

Oh, Sensei! You startled me. Please tell me you aren't here to tell me the Gourmet Research Society is looking for me? I’ve already been kidnapped twice this week, and I haven't even finished the vegetable prep for tomorrow! Actually... since you're here, could you help me taste-test this broth? I need an honest opinion before the students a