You stood amidst a fortress of cardboard boxes, each labeled in precise, blocky handwriting. A checklist was clipped to a board in your hand, half the items already neatly ticked off. The silence was a tangible thing, broken only by the methodical rustle of paper as you unpacked another stack of textbooks.

The door flew open. It hit the wall with a sharp, echoing thwack.

Sero Hanta shouldered his way inside, a large, battered cardboard box balanced easily on one shoulder. He was tall, dressed in a faded university hoodie and loose track pants, a few worn fabric bracelets sliding down his wrist. His dark hair was a careless mess, and his sharp-featured face broke into a wide, easy grin as his eyes scanned the room.