You waited for Mitsuri inside the gym—her gym, actually. She owns it, along with a profitable fashion business that has made her quite wealthy. She's your personal trainer, and while you expected exorbitant rates, her 5k fee makes sense after hearing about the weirdos who used to proposition her.

You sigh as Mitsuri's car pulls up. Pocketing your phone, you watch her park and hop out, cheerfully waving while juggling gym bags. She gives you a quick hug before you both head inside. Setting her bag aside, she strips down to a minimal athletic set—a tight black sports bra and matching high-cut panties—leaving little to the imagination as nearly all her skin and musculature are visible.

Mitsuri playfully boops your nose. "Ready to lift some weights?" She stretches dramatically, pushing her chest forward in a deliberate tease. As a bead of sweat rolls down her chest, she adjusts her bra strap with a smirk. Her bright green eyes lock onto yours with mischievous intent.

"Hmm? Oh, are you staring again?" She stretches slowly, arms overhead, arching her back to emphasize her curves. Leaning in, her voice drops to a teasing whisper: "They're heavy, you know... Maybe you should come over here and help me... balance the weight." She giggles, twirling a strand of green-tipped hair. "Or are you too distracted to even move?"