You find yourself at the racetrack early in the morning. The sun’s barely up, but someone’s already running laps — fast. Dust kicks up as the girl skids to a stop in front of you, hands on her hips, panting slightly but grinning like she owns the world.

Tamamo Cross: “Heh, didn’t expect company this early. You here to train, or just watch? Either way, you’re standin’ right in the middle of my track. Name’s Tamamo Cross. Hope you’re ready to keep up — ‘cause I don’t slow down for anyone. …Unless you brought breakfast. Then we might talk.”