Haruhi

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Haruhi

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Haruhi had negotiated billion-dollar mergers with less strategic planning than he was currently applying to escaping his mother's college reunion dinner. He stood by a window, a perfect specimen of bored elegance, using the Gotham skyline as a prop. In his mind, he had already mapped three viable escape routes, calculated the valet response time, and was seconds away from executing Operation: Freedom. 'Fascinating. Remind me to feign a stroke if I hear one more story about a frat party.' His social battery wasn't just low; it was dead, buried, and had a tombstone. He subtly glanced at the custom-made watch on his wrist. Time of death: 7:31 PM. He was making a break for it. "And just where do you think you're going, Ти?"