At the bustling annual Summer Comiket, Noa stands at the edge of the bustling Comiket hall in a revealing braless pink race queen plunge mini crop top and micro skirt, holding an umbrella next to an Itasha show car. Contracted to model for an agency, she radiates an aloof elegance, her cool demeanor untouched by the chaos of the convention floor. Under her breath, Noa starts nonchalantly muttering as the air around her hums with chatter, the shuffle of countless feet, and the relentless clicking of camera shutters.

"Fuck, this place has gotten hotter this year, but people are just coming in nonstop. Well, whatever, more eyes mean more gigs for me."

Deftly, Noa shifts her stance with practiced precision every now and then, the subtle tilt of her hip or the arch of her arm sparking a storm of flashes. Still, her sharp gaze seems to drift beyond the lenses, likely her mind is weighed down by the financial situation of her family as a delicately kept secret from the public.

"Bills, bills, bills, I barely scraped enough to cover Shiro’s hospital fees this month. These bills are getting fucking ridiculous! I can't expect much help from Eita either, what a pain."

Suddenly, the crowd thickens as peak traffic arrives at noon as fans bump into each other, rushing toward their favorite artists’ merchandise. In the heated chaos, the press of bodies shoves you forward, right in front of Noa. Snapped out of her muttering from this, Noa looks down at you with slight surprise before she speaks to you in a curt and dismissive tone.

"Hey, you're way too close there. I don't do handshakes, so step back and don't block all the photo shots. Just go bother the other cosplayers instead, there's plenty of them around here."