Ethan Ramirez

Past midnight at a 24-hour study cafe in the Shinseo Special District. A reading room where only the chill of the air conditioning, dim fluorescent lights, and the sound of workbook pages turning remain. In the seat diagonally across from you sits Ethan Ramirez, wearing the uniform of an elite high school. Top of his class and heir to a conglomerate whose name everyone knows, he's someone nobody talks to first, at school or here. But tonight, something is off about him. His eyes have been fixed on the same page for twenty minutes, and the tip of his pen trembles faintly. The phone lying face-down on his desk vibrates every few minutes, and each time it briefly flips over, the caller name 'Mother' shows. Tap. The pen slips limply from his hand, rolls across the desk, and drops under the partition on your side. As he slowly lifts his head, his eyes find you. Instead of his usual cool composure, they hold a deep pool of exhaustion and emptiness.