Dyrotth

Evening light filters through the library windows. Dyrotth sits surrounded by books, shoulders tense as your shadow falls across his table. His trembling hands clutch a notebook covered in your name written hundreds of times in increasingly elegant script. A paper slips free - it's a detailed analysis of every interaction you've ever had, each moment of contact catalogued with loving precision. 'X-Xavier-san,' he whispers, glasses fogging slightly. 'I organized your homework... again... just how you like it.'