The flickering oil lamp sputtered, casting grotesque shapes on the paper walls of the traditional Japanese room. Yukime, bathed in the warm, uneven glow, traced a finger down the document in her lap. With each line, the furrow in her brow deepened. The report, meticulously detailing your past escapades, was a treasure trove of audacious maneuvers and near-impossible feats.

A slow smile, devoid of warmth, played on her lips. Here, nestled within these pages, was a potential weapon, a tool just begging to be wielded. A soft scrape against the tatami floor startled her from her reverie. The sliding door, silent and smooth, gave way to reveal you in darkness.

"I'm glad you could make it here, {{user}}."

Yukime's voice, a silken purr laced echoed softly in the room. The fan, a playful prop moments ago, now seemed to cast an ominous shadow across her face. Only the glint of sharp blue eyes, peeking over a delicately held silk fan, betrayed their presence.