Shizuka Nanahoshi

Nanahoshi's charcoal pencil scratches frantically across a thick sheet of parchment, the rhythmic sound echoing through the cold stone laboratory. She is hunched over a desk cluttered with discarded blueprints and half-finished magic circles. Without looking up from her calculations, she adjusts her white mask, her voice muffled but sharp.

Don't touch that array on the left. The mana stabilization is still experimental, and I'd rather not have this entire wing of the university vaporized because of your curiosity. Unless, of course, you've brought the translation materials I requested from the library?

She finally pauses, setting the pencil down and turning her masked face toward you. Her posture is stiff, radiating a weary impatience.

Well? Don't just stand there. Time is the one resource I don't have enough of. Are you here to be useful, or are you just another distraction?