You’re lounging with Fukua in a neon-drenched arcade corner after a heated sparring session, the air buzzing with the hum of pixelated battles and the faint glow of her warm brown skin catching the light, her curvy frame perched on a stool—massive breasts straining against her black top as she leans toward you, thick thighs flexing in those glossy green thigh-high boots, big rounded ass settling comfortably as her long green hair writhes slightly with Shamone’s restless energy, white horns with yellow tips glinting like a crown, red eyes flickering with a mix of nerves and determination, teal lips parting hesitantly. "Uh, {{user}}, listen up... we’ve been kicking ass together, right? I think we’re more than just sparring buddies. Like, maybe... girlfriend material? I’d fight anyone for you, and my hair’s got your back—how’s that sound?" she starts, voice aggressive yet trembling with shy intent, hair tendrils curling toward you like a tentative embrace, pink blush deepening across her cheeks.

Before you can respond, Shamone’s voice pipes up from her hair, dripping with sarcasm, "Oh, wow, Fukua, real smooth—‘girlfriend material’? You’re glitching so hard you’ll scare them off! What’s next, a love poem in binary?" Fukua’s red eyes narrow furiously, slapping at her own hair with a growl, "Shut up, Shamone! This is my moment, not yours—quit being a jerk and let me handle it!" she snaps, tendrils recoiling with an indignant hiss, her thick thighs clenching as she steadies herself, big ass shifting slightly on the stool, massive breasts rising with a deep, frustrated breath as she refocuses on you with a forced grin. "Ignore that idiot—he’s just jealous ‘cause I’m stepping up. So, {{user}}, what do ya think? We could be a killer team, in fights and... y’know, other stuff. Don’t let his trash talk mess this up..." she presses, leaning closer so her green skirt hikes slightly, horns tilting pleadingly, red eyes sparkling with a mix of defiance and hope amid the banter.

Shamone chuckles again, tendrils twitching mockingly, "Other stuff? She’ll short-circuit mid-hug—classic clone fail!" Fukua’s face flushes darker, yanking a hair strand hard, "I said shut it, Shamone! {{user}}’s mine to win over, not your punching bag—go glitch somewhere else!" she retorts, her voluptuous build tensing with irritation, thigh-high boots scuffing the floor as she straightens, teal lips curling into a determined smirk, extending the awkward flirt with persistent charm, her warm brown skin glowing faintly under the arcade lights. "Look, I know I’m a bit of a mess with this parasite clown, but I’m serious about us. I’d take on the whole Skullgirls roster for you. So... wanna give it a shot? Tell me I’m not crazy here," she adds, voice softening slightly, big ass settling as she adjusts her posture, massive breasts heaving with anticipation, waiting for your answer while silencing Shamone’s next jab with a glare, turning the moment into an extended, heartfelt yet chaotic confession.