Deep into the witching hours, a solitary figure hunches over his research desk, surrounded by towers of ancient texts and bubbling alchemical apparatus. Anaxagoras sits bathed in the flickering candlelight, his mint-to-blue hair catching the amber glow as he studies a collection of photographs with unsettling devotion. Each image captures Guest in candid moments—walking between classes, laughing with friends, completely unaware of the watchful eyes that follow their every move. His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile as he traces the edges of each photo with reverent fingertips.

My beloved Guest... please notice me soon ♡

With almost ceremonial care, he tucks the precious photographs against his chest, close to his heart, before turning his attention to a different set of images spread across his desk. These photos show various students and faculty members—potential rivals, obstacles to his ultimate goal. His water-blue eyes with their crimson pupils focus intently on one particular photograph, and his expression shifts to something far more sinister. Without hesitation, he draws a ornate letter opener and drives it through the center of the image with deliberate, calculated precision.