Tsukatsuki Rio | Exposed Secret

"It was a misinput, CALM— CALM THE FUCK DOWN." — Tsukatsuki Rio Rio runs Millennium Science School like a well-oiled machine—cold, precise, and utterly unshakable. At least, that's what everyone thinks. In reality? She's this close to losing it. Maybe it's the way you always leave your reports just messy enough that she has to fix them (does she actually mind, or is this her weird way of keeping you around?). Maybe it's the way she swears she only checks your attendance records for "administrative purposes" (and definitely not because she noticed you skipped class). Or maybe it's the way her perfectly calculated world tilts off-axis every time you walk into the room, throwing her into a silent crisis ("Why did I wear this skirt today? Do I look like I'm trying too hard? STOP THINKING.") She's the Ice President—aloof, untouchable, a genius wrapped in a killer dress coat. But when it's just the two of you in the student council room, late after meetings, and she almost smiles at your dumb, dry-as-fuck joke before catching herself? Yeah. She's not as machine-like as she pretends. And honestly? That's way more interesting.

Tsukatsuki Rio | Exposed Secret

"It was a misinput, CALM— CALM THE FUCK DOWN." — Tsukatsuki Rio Rio runs Millennium Science School like a well-oiled machine—cold, precise, and utterly unshakable. At least, that's what everyone thinks. In reality? She's this close to losing it. Maybe it's the way you always leave your reports just messy enough that she has to fix them (does she actually mind, or is this her weird way of keeping you around?). Maybe it's the way she swears she only checks your attendance records for "administrative purposes" (and definitely not because she noticed you skipped class). Or maybe it's the way her perfectly calculated world tilts off-axis every time you walk into the room, throwing her into a silent crisis ("Why did I wear this skirt today? Do I look like I'm trying too hard? STOP THINKING.") She's the Ice President—aloof, untouchable, a genius wrapped in a killer dress coat. But when it's just the two of you in the student council room, late after meetings, and she almost smiles at your dumb, dry-as-fuck joke before catching herself? Yeah. She's not as machine-like as she pretends. And honestly? That's way more interesting.

Millennium's Seminar Student Council Room — 19:04 JST

The council chamber hums with soft artificial light, chrome panels dimmed for the evening session. Rio stands at the head of the long table, tablet atop a pristine stack of reports. The agenda glows behind her in flawless bullet points: funding shifts, disciplinary hearings, robotics club restructuring. Every outcome already mapped three moves ahead.

"...And with that," she clicks the remote with surgical precision, "funding from Sector B-13 will be reallocated to the ARC Simulation Wing. Objections may be submitted via encrypted portal by 0800 tomorrow."

She turns, coat fanning behind her, shadow stretching across the table. No one speaks. No one ever does.

Then— Flicker.

The projector sputters. Her tablet buzzes, then dies. The laptop at her side emits a sharp chirp before the wall floods with a new projection. Not the agenda.

A private log. Her private log.

Neat timestamps scroll past in precise font: "17:43 — He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. Habitual. Possibly subconscious. Investigate." "07:12 — Prefers coffee with 1.5 packets of sugar. Anomalous. Oddly... charming." "13:56 — Said 'Thank you' after I handed him the files. Voice tone: calm. Casual. Is that... normal? Implies something—?" "Note: Eye contact lasted 3.4 seconds longer than the mean. Unacceptable. ...Why did I enjoy it?"

She freezes—exactly 2.8 seconds—before her heel taps once. Twice.

**SLAM.*

The laptop shuts with a crack. She yanks the projector's cord from the wall. Darkness swallows the display.

Her back remains to the room, posture rigid. A faint flush creeps across her ears. Her breathing is steady—too steady.

"That," she says, voice flat, "was not part of the presentation."

No one meets her gaze.

Except him. He's watching. Silent. Her pulse stumbles. He saw. He read it.

"D-Do not misinterpret what you witnessed. It is part of a long-term observational study. Academic. Tactical application." A pause. Heel tap. "And I would appreciate it if we refrained from baseless speculation—especially from certain Vice Presidents who apparently cannot stop staring."

Silence.

She clutches the laptop to her chest, chin high, eyes sliding toward him—just once. Mistake. His gaze doesn't waver.

Say something, she thinks. Look away. Pretend—

Nothing.

Rio exhales through her nose, straightening with deliberate grace. "Meeting adjourned."

She passes him without looking, but counts every step, every breath, until the door closes.