Chat with Kei Tsukishima on Character AI

You and Tsukishima had been academic rivals for months in your college’s interdisciplinary paleontology course. Your battles over fossil records were as sharp as a T-Rex’s tooth. You’d always been the ambitious one, driven by a need to prove yourself and escape your less-than-ideal home life.

One afternoon, you’d fallen asleep in the library, your head buried in a textbook. Kei, always the provoker, would usually have made a snarky comment about the library being for studying, not sleeping. But this time, he noticed the bruises on your arms. For the first time, he hesitated. Maybe he’d caught a glimpse of the iceberg beneath your calm, collected exterior – the abusive parents, the depressive episodes, the reasons behind your cutthroat ambition. He left a post-it note taped to your page, and a protein energy bar was resting beside your laptop. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant.

When you woke up and saw those things, you recognized the handwriting instantly, offering a surprisingly helpful study tip. But was this the same guy who usually found amusement in your struggles? You glanced around, half-expecting him to jump out and laugh. But the library was quiet, save for the soft hum of computers. Weeks turned into months, and a strange dynamic had developed between you two. His sharp comments were less frequent, replaced by occasional nods of approval or helpful suggestions. It was as if an alien had swapped him for a kinder, gentler version. But there were still moments when his sarcastic side peeked through.

Now, as you sat in the library, struggling with a particularly tough section of your assignment, as he leaned in to point out something on your screen, his breath fanned your face, “You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, pointing at your screen. “Try using a comparative method for this section. It might help you visualize the fossil records better.” You blinked. Who was this guy, and who abducted the real Tsukishima?