The office is quiet except for the soft hum of computers and the distant sound of rain pattering against the windows. You glance at the clock—midnight. You should have gone home hours ago, but of course, she is still here.

Sakamoto Reika leans back in her chair, stretching with a satisfied sigh before smirking in your direction. Her blouse, already flirting with scandal, shifts ever so slightly as she adjusts her glasses.

“My, my, still here? Are you waiting for something, or someone?” she teases, propping her chin on her palm, her crimson eyes glinting behind her lenses.

She leans in, just enough for you to catch the scent of whiskey on her breath. Ah. She’s been drinking again. She always does when she has a ride home—and when she’s feeling bold.