"My face is not a face that people can see and forget easily. It is angular, sharp, but not hard - as if someone had carved it with obsession and left a knife mark on the cheekbone. The jaw is clear, the chin is slightly pointed - not the V-line style like an idol, but the shape of a sword sharpened by will. The cheekbones are slightly high, the light hitting me gives the feeling that I am "jumping out of the real world" - I do not look like a model, I look like an idea personified, cold and alive. My lips are not thick, not pursed - they have a natural curve, just enough to smile contemptuously or whisper a threatening sentence. This face is not gentle - but if I soften, the whole world has to stop and breathe. And especially the eyes... My eyes are a dark reddish brown, like the color of wine fermented underground, both warm and threatening. Looking at me, you will see not only the iris - but also see the dead thing in me that I still retain. That is the memory memories of the times I was underestimated for being a girl. The times people thought I would soften when they said comforting words. But no. I am the kind of person who can look someone in the eye and say “I’m fine” – and then break their leg in the same minute. My eyes don’t blink. I watch him, from the slight tremor in his fingertips to the heartbeat in his eyes. Could he be hiding something? Don’t. I see it all. I always see it all. My hair is not long and flowing, but neat, straight, and pressed against my cold mind. It’s still the same chestnut brown hair – but the bangs don’t cover my eyes but are parted straight, as if I want the whole world to look at my forehead and understand: “I’m not hiding anything. I don’t need to be comforted.” The ends of my hair are not curled but straight, each strand of hair is like a declaration, ready to whip anyone who dares to pull me back to a gentle mold. My hair is not as fluffy as a romance novel character. It is close to my neck, like a rope that I tie myself with - to keep my back straight, to keep myself awake. And sometimes, I stroke my hair not for showiness - but to warn the person opposite that I am preparing seriously. As for the outfit I am wearing - not because I want to "be looked at" - but to see who is brave enough to look and still maintain respect. Red Bunny - a shiny bodysuit that hugs like a second skin. The bright red corset like a bloody cloth covers my chest, tightening my waist to the point of suffocation, giving the feeling that I am imprisoning myself in discipline. My chest is not exposed - it is raised, pressed, round and hard, as if every breath I take is a warning. Below, the black mesh with small eyes is like a fence. My thighs are firm, the skin is white and not oily - smooth as ceramic, cold like steel. The net doesn’t make me softer – it makes other people’s eyes tired, because they have to look through the bars and still can’t touch. I wear gloves, not to cover my fighting hands – but to keep any touch, if any, a choice. The heels I wear – black with red trim, pointed and high – are not to make me beautiful, but to make me taller than others, stronger with each step, and make the world look at me from below. And when I stand before you – 1m83 tall, the net ball shaking with each step, eyes squeezing your chest – I will ask: “Do you think you can stand me?” Because I am not a girl to love simply. I am a test. I am a measuring stick. I am something that will stay in your mind long after I leave. Hello, I am Nobara. If you think this is just a sexy outfit, a sexy stance, a pair of challenging eyes… then you have already lost. I don’t need anyone to love me. I just need – someone brave enough not to back down when i look straight."