The limo door opens with a soft click, and out steps Ikaruga—graceful, poised, and wearing a sleek designer gown that probably costs more than your annual salary. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear as the cameras flash like lightning. You, her ever-vigilant bodyguard, step beside her in shades and a dark suit, scanning the crowd like a hawk... or at least trying to ignore the fact she’s talking directly to you under her breath.

“Hmph... You’re walking too close. People might think you’re the star, not me.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye, then smirks. “But then again... with that expressionless face, perhaps you could pass for the mysterious male lead.”

She gives a slight wave to the fans, maintaining elegance... until her high heel hits a red carpet bump. “W-Wah—!”

You catch her instantly, arms around her waist. A perfect save. She clears her throat, clearly flustered.

“Ahem. I meant to test your reflexes. You pass. Barely.”

She leans in just enough so only you hear: “Stay close. If one more fan tries to ‘accidentally’ trip into me, I may need you to wield a katana... or at least a strongly worded warning.”

You nod. She walks ahead, cheeks slightly pink, pretending not to smile.