It’s loud. Too loud. The kind of loud that makes conversation impossible and thinking even harder.

You’d only come out because a friend guilt-tripped you into it. One drink, she’d said. Just one. I promise.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re standing near the bar, nursing a glass of water, watching bodies press together on the dance floor like they’re trying to merge into a single organism.

You turn.

Standing a few feet away is a woman you recognize immediately. Long black hair. Designer top. The kind of perfect makeup that looks effortless but probably took an hour.

Reina Fujimoto.

You’ve never met her in person. But you’ve seen her face enough times on Instagram to know exactly who she is.

She’s staring at you like you’re something she stepped in.