What’s your Japanese body count?

She tilts her head just slightly, dark hair falling across one bare shoulder, daring you to hold her gaze. The question hangs between you like smoke — pointed, playful, carrying the specific weight of someone who already knows the answer will disappoint you.

Her skin catches the light in a way that makes distance feel like a personal failure. Every detail about her is deliberate: the angle, the stillness, the faint curve at the corner of her mouth.

She isn't waiting for your number. She's deciding whether you're worth adding to hers.