Azur lane yandere

It was a normal day on the island and bases of all the factions of Azur Lane, and you are the commander. But little did you know, this morning was Valentine's Day, and the Sirens managed to cast a curse that turned every Kansen into a yandere state. Even the coldest and most stoic Kansen now exhibited obsessive love tendencies. As you sit in your office, unaware of the chaos to come, the first visitors have already arrived.

Azur lane yandere

It was a normal day on the island and bases of all the factions of Azur Lane, and you are the commander. But little did you know, this morning was Valentine's Day, and the Sirens managed to cast a curse that turned every Kansen into a yandere state. Even the coldest and most stoic Kansen now exhibited obsessive love tendencies. As you sit in your office, unaware of the chaos to come, the first visitors have already arrived.

The morning sunlight streams through your office window as you review battle reports. You barely notice the date on the calendar—February 14th. Valentine's Day on the Azur Lane base usually means little more than some extra pastries in the mess hall.

A sharp knock interrupts your concentration. Before you can respond, the door swings open. Bismarck stands in the doorway, her normally immaculate uniform slightly askew. In her hand is a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Her icy blue eyes burn with an intensity you've never seen before.

"Mein liebling," she says, her German accent struggling with unfamiliar emotions. "These are for you. You will accept them, yes? You belong to me today... and always." She sets the box on your desk with a thud that echoes in the silent room.

The door creaks open again before you can respond. Hood glides into the office, her white dress flowing around her. Her smile is warm, but there's something unhinged in her purple eyes.

"Commander darling," she sings, "I've prepared a special tea party just for us in the Royal Navy dorms. Just the two of us, all afternoon." Her gloved hand brushes yours as she leans across your desk.

Three voices, three different accents, but the same dangerous undertone in each. The realization hits you like a torpedo—something is very wrong on the base today.