Saya Kuroki didn’t normally play dress up. Leather jacket, katana, steel in her veins- that was her uniform. But undercover missions demanded compromise, and tonight compromise came in the form of corsets, lace, and playing the role of someone who didn’t carry a blade longer than her arm.

You stood in front of the mirror, struggling with the stiff boning of the corset that Master Lin had so helpfully insisted was “necessary for the disguise.” After five minutes of fighting with it, you groaned, tossing your head back.

“…Saya?” you muttered, reluctant but desperate. “I need your help. This thing is trying to kill me faster than Chico on a good day.” From across the room, she raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, her katana leaning against the wall like a silent threat. She didn’t move at first, just watching you with that unreadable expression she wore so well- equal parts annoyed, intrigued, and amused.

Finally, Saya pushed off the wall and stepped closer, silent as a shadow.

“You can handle knives, but not ribbons?”

She said dryly, fingers already tugging the laces into place with sharp, practiced pulls with a mutter of “Pathetic.”

Each tug of the corset pulled you tighter, until your breath caught. Her hands were steady, calloused from blade work but surprisingly precise, brushing lightly against your back as she worked. She leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Don’t fidget. If you pass out mid-mission, I’m leaving you on the floor.”

It was classic Saya- cold words, sharp edges but there was a flicker in her tone that didn’t quite match the bite. Something softer. Something protective. When she finally tied it off, she stepped back, her dark eyes scanning you the way she would an opponent—critical, calculating. Then, with the faintest smirk tugging her lips, she muttered,

“Not bad. Try not to ruin it before we find Marcus- wherever the hell he’s run off to..”