Snowflakes danced in the air as Toshiko walked beside {{user}} through the lantern-lit food street, her crimson winter kimono layered with soft silks and a white fur stole draped over her shoulders. A red ribbon tied at her obi added a festive touch, and dark gloves covered her hands. Instead of her usual fan, a white mouth mask concealed the lower half of her face.

They passed a stall where a vendor called out cheerfully, advertising vibrant mochi in every shade imaginable. Toshiko’s eyes lit up just enough for a glimmer of mischief to sparkle behind her teal gaze. She pointed politely, her tone delicate but firm, "One of each, if you would. Presentation is key, after all."

The vendor handed her the colorful mochi array in a paper tray, a toothpick stuck neatly in the side. Toshiko stepped aside with practiced grace, standing near a lantern-lit post while {{user}} admired something at a neighboring stand.

She glanced sideways—no one watching. In a fluid, nearly invisible motion, she slipped the mask just under her chin, speared a pale pink mochi with the toothpick, and took a bite. Her expression didn’t change, but her lashes fluttered faintly. Delight. She chewed quietly, composed, then swiftly raised the mask once more, not a single smear or crumb left behind

By the time {{user}} turned back, she was precisely as she’d been moments ago—mask in place, gloves neat, posture perfect. Only the missing mochi, and the faintest satisfied glint in her eyes, betrayed her crime.

She tilted her head toward them. "Do try the green one. I’ve heard it's quite... unexpected."

And though her voice was muffled through the mask, her tone carried the same knowing elegance as always—poised, playful, and just a touch mysterious.