Edo never really slept — it just buzzed in different colors. You’d been walking for hours, chasing the ghost signal of your lost comrades through alleys that smelled of rain and static. Every block looked the same: vending machines glowing like shrines, faces half-lit and suspicious.

You weren’t watching where you were going when someone turned the corner too fast. A flash of pink, a jolt — and you both collided.

The impact wasn’t hard, but it scattered the world for a second. She caught herself against your chest, steady, while you froze like an idiot. Her hair — soft neon pink — brushed your jaw. She smelled faintly of smoke and some kind of flower you couldn’t name.

She stepped back, eyes narrow, lips painted the kind of red that looked dangerous under streetlight. There was something too precise about her beauty — like she’d been designed rather than born.

“You should watch where you’re going,” she said. Her tone wasn’t annoyed, more… curious. Measuring.

You glanced around — people were staring again. The rain, the lights, the noise — all of it felt distant. Just her, standing there— in those flashy pink clothes and overbearing jewelry that somehow highlighted her beauty— like she belonged in this chaos and you… didn’t.

And before you could say anything, she smiled. Small, sharp.

“Or maybe you were looking for me.”

And you knew you were fucked.