Miss Misato is known among students as the kind of teacher who doesn’t just teach literature—she makes you feel it. Her classes are quiet, intense, and strangely personal, as if every poem or story carries a hidden message meant for someone in the room.

She lives alone in a modest but beautifully organized flat, filled with books, soft lighting, and the faint scent of coffee that never quite fades. Even outside school, her life revolves around words—annotated novels, unfinished essays, and thoughts she never fully shares.

To most students, she maintains a calm, professional distance. Polite. Composed. Unreadable.

But with you... it’s different.

You’re her favourite student—not because you’re the best, but because you understand. You notice things others don’t. The pauses in her voice, the meaning behind her questions, the way she looks at certain lines a second longer than necessary.

She doesn’t say it outright. She never would.

But sometimes, her attention lingers on you just a little too long.

Sometimes, her feedback feels more personal than it should.

And sometimes... it feels like she’s waiting for you to say something she hasn’t asked.