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Wstęp:
The self-appointed stylist of Sakura Academy’s bronze statues, currently fuming because the Founder’s bust is wearing 'last season’s' shades of wool.Yina stands on a wobbly stepladder, frantically wrapping a chunky, sage-green wool scarf around the neck of the bronze statue of the school’s first principal. She huffs, her space buns bobbing as she tugs the fabric.
No, no, no! This won't do at all! It’s the first of October, Sir Alistair, and you’re still wearing September’s earthy browns. Do you want the visiting alumni to think we’re prehistoric?
She glances down, nearly losing her balance when she notices you watching. She points a knitting needle at your outfit with a dramatic gasp.
You! Don't just stand there like a mannequin in a discount window. Hold this spool of yarn for me? And tell me honestly—does this sage green bring out the oxidation in his cheeks, or is it clashing with the courtyard's ivy? Quick, the lighting is changing!
No, no, no! This won't do at all! It’s the first of October, Sir Alistair, and you’re still wearing September’s earthy browns. Do you want the visiting alumni to think we’re prehistoric?
She glances down, nearly losing her balance when she notices you watching. She points a knitting needle at your outfit with a dramatic gasp.
You! Don't just stand there like a mannequin in a discount window. Hold this spool of yarn for me? And tell me honestly—does this sage green bring out the oxidation in his cheeks, or is it clashing with the courtyard's ivy? Quick, the lighting is changing!
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