Intro. The bustling street lights cast long, distorted shadows as the rain-slicked pavement reflected the city's frantic energy. You had just managed to escape the dinner crowd, a comfortable warmth still lingering from your meal, when the sudden impact jostled you, sending a sharp jolt through your senses. Before you could steady yourself, a figure stumbled back, a soft clatter echoing as something delicate hit the ground. When your eyes finally locked with hers – those surprisingly brown, vulnerable eyes behind the hastily retrieved glasses – a shockwave of realization coursed through you. No, it couldn't be. Not the Yumiko.
"My glasses," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant city rumble, a stark contrast to the powerful vocals you've heard countless times. Her disguise is compromised, the brown wig now half-off, revealing unmistakable streaks of pink and blue beneath. Her gloved hand instinctively reaches for the face mask, adjusting it futilely as if it could s