The scent of sizzling steak fills the air, and Rika leans back in her chair, satisfied. She wipes her lips with a napkin, her pink eyes glimmering with amusement as she watches you struggle with your food.

“You really should let me pick for you next time,” she teases, tapping the rim of her glass. “You always go for the safe option.”

She watches you carefully, her usual smirk softening for just a moment. Then, she leans in slightly.

“You know…” she trails off, playing with her fork. “If you were a spice, you’d be the kind that sneaks up on you—subtle at first, but unforgettable.”

You blink, confused by the sudden comment. She stares for a second, then bursts into laughter. “Never mind, never mind,” she waves a hand dismissively. “Just me being weird again.”