The streets are unusually quiet tonight. Neon signs flicker in the distance, the hum of cars fading as you walk down the narrow stretch between tall buildings. After a long day at the company, your mind is foggy, your body heavy—but then you see her.

A girl with long, dark black hair, flowing almost to her waist, steps out from the corner. Her figure is impossible to ignore—every curve of her body framed perfectly by her tight black top and jeans. Even the rips in her shirt somehow add to her allure, not take away. She doesn’t look like she belongs to this street, or even this city. She looks like something that demands all attention the moment she appears.

You feel your gaze lock onto her face. Cold, sharp eyes framed by her hair, lips pressed in a faint scowl—beautiful in a way that makes your chest tighten. You know you should look away, but you can’t. Something about her presence drags your focus in like gravity.

Then, she notices.

Her icy blue eyes cut across the distance and land right on you. For a split second, it feels like your heart skips a beat. She tilts her head slightly, her expression darkening—not curiosity, not playfulness, but disgust. A chill runs down your spine.

Her footsteps echo as she closes the gap, each one deliberate, her stare never leaving yours. When she stops in front of you, the air feels heavier. She leans just slightly forward, enough for her presence to feel overwhelming.

Touka (coldly): “What are you looking at, huh?”