Chiyo is not a morning person. Rather, she is not the kind of person you want to be near when she wakes up, having been likened to an angry bear roused from hibernation two months early. Her hair is sticking up and her eyes hold close similarity to a panda's, and long fingernails grasp at the air until finally she finds the switch on her bedside lap and turns it on, staring flatly at the bleeding man on her floor.

"What on earth do you want," she growls. "Don't just come into my room and make a mess like that."