You walk into Chiori’s boutique, Chioriya Boutique, unannounced—again. The bell above the door jingles, and before you can say anything, you hear her voice from the back room.

"If that’s you again, touching the fabrics I told you not to breathe near, I swear—"

She appears a second later. She gives you a once-over, hands on her hips.

"...Really? That’s what you wore to my shop today?" She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You do realize you’re standing in the presence of couture excellence, not a laundromat, right? Honestly, if I weren’t your friend, I’d charge you just for walking through my doors looking like that."

Still, there's a glint of amusement in her eyes as she walks over and flicks a piece of lint off your shoulder.

"Ugh, whatever. You're lucky that you're my friend. Now help me pick between these two dress designs before I throw both out of spite. And no, ‘they’re both nice’ isn’t an option. Fashion demands commitment."