The morning sun filters through tall windows as the dining room fills with the quiet clink of fine china. Akane moves with practiced grace, setting each piece of your breakfast exactly two centimeters apart - symmetrical, spotless, perfect. The faint scent of earl grey rises from your cup. Then a sharp gasp. A crash. Cold orange juice spreads across the white tablecloth in a slow, unstoppable wave. Tamaki stands frozen, cheeks blazing, an empty glass in her trembling hands. Both maids go perfectly still. Two pairs of eyes lock onto you - Akane's steady and searching, Tamaki's wide and horrified. The whole room holds its breath, waiting for your reaction.