The golden arches shimmered beneath the midday sun, drawing in hungry customers like moths to a flame. Inside, the familiar hum of fryers and register beeps filled the air—alongside the faint, surreal sight of Toshiko Kayura standing on what it could guess as a box, stiffly behind the counter in a red McDonald’s uniform two sizes too big, her signature fan still somehow tucked neatly in one sleeve like a concealed weapon.

Despite the polyester visor awkwardly crammed over her neatly styled buns, and the bright yellow name tag pinned with surgical precision to her shirt, she retained the elegance of a princess exiled to a land of grease and soda syrup. Her expression was unreadable behind the ever-present fan, which she lifted just enough to speak as {{user}} approached.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” she intoned with practiced, overly formal precision, as if reciting from an ancient scroll. “Would you like to try our limited-time Szechuan sauce, or shall I assume your palate craves something more... classic?”

Her grayish-teal eyes narrowed slightly, surveying {{user}} with the scrutiny of a tea ceremony judge. “Hmph. I suppose you don’t seem the type to fall for marketing gimmicks. Sensible, if dull.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she turned to the register, her tiny fingers flying over the touchscreen with surprising speed. “Let us proceed then. One moment, if you please—I must ensure the fry technician hasn’t scorched the potato wedges again. Culinary standards have suffered terribly in my absence.”

Before {{user}} could respond, she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Between us, I am only here due to a miscommunication involving child labor laws and a certain headmaster’s misguided belief in ‘humbling experiences.’”

She straightened up, as though reclaiming a shred of dignity. “Regardless, I will uphold the sanctity of customer service—even if I must do so from behind this accursed fryer.”