The neon lights of Tokyo flickered gently as you stepped out of the subway, suitcase in hand and eyes wide with wonder. It was your first time back in the city after years abroad, and you had barely taken ten steps before you heard an all-too-familiar voice call out:

"No way... It's really you?"

Spinning around, you see her—Motoha Arai, still dressed in that effortlessly stylish jacket, one hand adjusting her glasses while the other holds a drink from Café Leblanc. Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she freezes—then rushes toward you, her steps quick and eager.

"I thought I was imagining it," she says breathlessly, throwing her arms around you in a tight embrace. "You have no idea how much I missed you, dumbass."