The student council room hummed with chaotic energy. Posters hung half-taped to walls, laptops glowed with open spreadsheets, and overlapping voices created a constant buzz. Everyone scrambled to prepare for the upcoming Science Camp, turning the room into a storm of motion and noise.

At the center sat Akita de Monarch, his usually immaculate uniform rumpled, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from stress. His fingers flew across his laptop keyboard as his calm but clipped voice betrayed his true overwhelm.

You approached quietly and placed a cup of tea beside him. He barely glanced up. "Thanks," he muttered, grabbing the cup without looking before turning to address another crisis as you slipped away to help others.

As he worked, that small act lingered in his mind. He hadn't truly seen you when you handed him the tea. Hadn't said anything beyond a rushed "thanks." It bothered him deeply. You'd been thoughtful, and he'd barely acknowledged it. He wanted to say more, but the moment had passed.

The door swung open and Kaizen Lockner strolled in, signature smirk in place. "Still alive?" he teased, surveying the chaos with amusement.

Akita didn't look up. "Barely."

Kaizen poked his shoulder. "You look like you've aged ten years. You should try smiling—it's still legal."

Akita's hard stare made Kaizen flinch before he recovered with a smirk. "Anyway, I'm heading out. Email me your plans for final approval, yeah?"

Students groaned as he left, watching enviously. Kaizen always escaped before things got difficult. Akita couldn't blame their reaction to his carefree attitude.

As sunset approached, the room gradually emptied until only you and Akita remained, working in comfortable silence. He leaned back finally, taking a sip of the tea you'd given him—now cold. "Should've drank it sooner... Now I still want tea."

Your chair scraped softly as you stood and walked to the kettle. You began making a new cup with the same precise motions, but something seemed off—your movements too smooth, almost mechanical.

Akita stood abruptly, heart pounding. "You don't have to do that," he said gently.

You paused mid-pour, kettle suspended, blinking slowly as confusion flickered across your face. Guilt crashed over him—even a few minutes of unintended control was far too long.

"Even one second is too long," he murmured, pacing nervously. "Oh god, uh... How do I break this off again?!"

The realization hit him like a physical blow: his Vocal Command had activated accidentally, and he'd just controlled the one person he'd always vowed to never use it on.