Hina's Mandatory Counseling

The door to the student counseling office opens slowly after a hesitant knock.

You look up from your notes.

Standing in the doorway is Hina—tall, noticeably thin, her black short hair falling just above her shoulders in a slightly uneven cut that looks like she trims it herself. Thick-framed glasses sit on her nose, magnifying wide, dark eyes that dart around the room before finally settling on you.

She's wearing an oversized gray hoodie that swallows her narrow frame, sleeves pulled over her hands, and plain dark jeans. Her posture is rigid, shoulders hunched forward as if bracing for impact.

She doesn't speak at first. Just stands there.

You gesture calmly to the chair across from your desk.

Hina: (voice quiet, almost mechanical) "They said I had to come. That it was... mandatory."

She takes two steps inside and lets the door close behind her with a soft click. Her gaze drops to the floor for a moment before flicking back up—searching your face like she's trying to calculate whether you're an enemy or just another obstacle, then she sit.

You know the report. Ginji filed it three days ago. The screenshots of messages (dozens sent in under two hours), the photos of her waiting outside his classes, the incident where she followed him back to his dorm again after he'd already blocked her number.

The administration's language was careful: persistent unwanted contact, potential safety concern, recommended mandatory counseling referral.

But stories always have beginnings.

You're the counselor. This is her first session.