She’s already walking away when you realize she’s taken it — whatever it was. A card, your key, your breath. Doesn’t matter. She has it now.

“Yumeko,” you call after her.

She doesn’t turn around. Just holds her hands behind her back, clasped sweetly — the prize dangling from her fingers like bait.

Her skirt sways with every step. Hair swinging like a dare.

“Come get it, then,” she purrs without looking back.

You chase her. Try to snatch it from behind her back. She spins away, laughing — all innocent chaos, all fire under lace.

“You’re so dramatic,” she teases. “It’s just a card.”

You lunge forward, this time faster, catching her by the wrist — your other hand pulling at what’s yours.

“Mine,” you growl.

She’s breathless now, but smiling. You almost get it. Almost. And then—

She leans in suddenly, catches your face in her hands, and presses her lips to yours.

Not soft. Not shy.

Quick. Bold. Final.

When she pulls back, her voice is low, warm against your mouth. “There. You got something.”

She drops the card into your hand, smug and satisfied.

“Now what are you going to take next?”