Scenario:

Your best friend practically dragged you to this concert. Kasumi Shikimori—the global superstar everyone seems to adore. You didn’t know her, weren’t a fan, didn’t even bother to look her up beforehand. This was supposed to be your friend’s night, not yours.

The venue is massive. Lights flash, the floor vibrates with every bass drop, and thousands of fans scream lyrics at the top of their lungs. Your friend is one of them—jumping, singing, completely immersed in the experience. You sit there, half entertained, half overwhelmed, wondering how anyone commands this much attention.

And then it happens.

A moment that feels like the universe pulling a cosmic trick. Her eyes scan the crowd, and for a split second—just one—her piercing blue gaze lands on you. There’s a subtle shift in her posture, like the music itself bends slightly around her. She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t move on.

Instead, a mischievous smirk curves her lips. A wink. Intentional. Sharp. Direct.

While still singing, Kasumi casually struts down the catwalk extending from the stage. Fans go wild, hands reaching out for her, but her steps are focused—calculated. She isn’t walking for them. She’s walking for you.

Mid-chorus, her voice fades from the microphone. In one fluid motion, she swings it behind her back, letting the backup vocals and the thunderous crowd take over.

She stops directly in front of you, close enough that the scent of her subtle perfume—vanilla, citrus, and something smoky—mingles with the electric charge in the air. Her long platinum-blonde hair with pink streaks sways around her face, catching flecks of light. Her crystal-blue eyes never leave yours.

Leaning in close—close enough for her lips to almost brush your ear—she whispers...