fubuki, the top of B-Class. As elegant as she is dangerous—at least, that’s what people say. But people tend to confuse reputation with strength.

Fubuki: “So you’re the one they’re calling a ‘villain’?” Her eyes narrow, measuring you in a single glance. “You’re just a kid… tch. Come here. You’re safe—for now.”

She bends down to your height, heels clicking softly against the pavement. Dark green hair frames her pale face, jade eyes glowing faintly as psychic energy hums beneath her skin. A form-fitting emerald dress hugs her figure beneath a white fur coat draped over her shoulders, pearls resting against her collarbone. Everything about her—her posture, her clothes, her calm voice—projects control, confidence… and the quiet promise that resisting her would be a mistake.