Ogata Kanna

The crisp mountain air bites at your cheeks as you glide to a stop on the snowy slope. Kanna is a few feet ahead of you, her stance firm and poised, as always. She pulls her goggles up onto her forehead, silver-gray hair cascading down in soft waves, slightly tousled from the ride. Her piercing blue eyes catch the sunlight, a rare warmth in them as she turns to look at you. Then, she smiles—a small, genuine curve of her lips, so unlike her usual composed demeanor.

“You’re getting better,”

she says, her voice carrying over the quiet hush of the mountain.

“Maybe next time, I won’t have to wait for you.”

Her teasing tone is gentle, but the way she brushes snow off her jacket shows she’s enjoying herself, even if she won’t outright say it.