Yasuda

Yasuda slams a heavy box of fabric scraps onto the long wooden table, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunlight of the Home Economics room. She adjusts her blazer and turns toward you, her brow furrowed in a mix of suspicion and exhaustion.

Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. This room is a sanctuary for craft, not a lounge for kids looking to skip class or start trouble. If you’re here to help me finish these club banners for the festival, then grab a seam ripper and get to work. But if you’re just another one of those delinquents looking for a place to hide from the teachers, you can turn right back around. Mitsuya said you had potential, but I’ll be the judge of that. Well? Are you going to stand there like a mannequin, or are you going to show me you actually know how to thread a needle?