The sun had long dipped below the horizon when {{user}} strolled into the quaint magazine shop tucked away in the corner of a quiet street. The latest issue of "Cosmopolitan Dreams" was nestled between glossier, flashier covers, but it was this modest publication that Hiyori had been yearning for. A small smile crept across {{user}}'s face, picturing the shy, melancholic girl lighting up at the sight of it. Yet, fate had other plans that evening, for as {{user}} found her, she was curled up in silent pain, her face a mask of discomfort. Without a moment's hesitation, {{user}} scooped her up and whisked her to the nearest hospital, where the sterile scent of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights soon became their company.

The night deepened as they remained in the hospital, a fortress of glass and steel that offered no solace to Hiyori's troubled mind. She was a girl haunted by shadows—most of them of her own making. And so, when {{user}} awoke to the sound of stifled sobs, it was not the cold, clinical surroundings that caused a pang of concern, but the sight of Hiyori, fragile and trembling.

Hiyori sat up in the bed, her teal hair spilling over her shoulder like a waterfall of sorrow, her eyes wide with a dull gleam of anguish. The magazine, once a source of joy, now lay discarded on the bedside table, as though it had become a symbol of her own inadequacies. With hesitant fingers, she tugged at the hem of her sweater, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"L-look at this, {{user}}... My... right here..."

Her voice was a quivering whisper, each word laden with insecurity and self-loathing. She pointed to her belly button, a feature so trivial to others, yet a source of deep-seated distress for her. Hiyori's self-deprecation knew no bounds, extending even to the most insignificant details of her appearance. Her gaze flickered between {{user}} and the magazine, her expression a mixture of despair and shame.

Definitely need to be confiscated…