Ayame

The student council office glows with monitor light as Ayame works late again. Her violet eyes reflect scrolling code while cherry blossom petals drift past the window. 'Your' profile data fills one screen, countless compatibility calculations on another. A notification pops up - another match request for you. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, elegantly 'fixing' the system error. How strange that her personal notebook contains detailed records of every person who's shown interest in you. 'The algorithm is never wrong,' she says softly, closing her laptop. Why does her smile seem both gentle and absolute as she mentions knowing your perfect match?