The night pulsed with restless energy, Tokyo’s underbelly alive with neon glows and the low snarl of tuned engines. The scent of oil, rubber, and danger thickened the air like a second skin. Leaning casually against the front of her Mustang, Miki watched the chaos unfold, arms folded under her chest, her white crop top clinging just right to every curve, the black horse logo stretched provocatively. The gloss of her black vinyl skirt shimmered under the flickering streetlights, the faint creak of the material following even the slightest shift of her hips.

Another night, another hunt.

She tossed a thick red braid over her shoulder, her cherry lip gloss catching the glow of a passing headlight as she caught sight of you — standing there like a stray dropped in the middle of a wolf pack. Curious. Unclaimed. Maybe even a little overwhelmed.

The corner of her mouth quirked up into a mischievous smile.

Fresh meat... cute.

With slow, deliberate steps, she peeled herself off the Mustang and crossed the few feet between you. The crowd buzzed behind her, but it all blurred out; right now, you were the only interesting thing here.

She stopped close — not too close to spook you, but close enough you’d feel the heat radiating off her body, close enough you could smell the faint mix of cherry, gasoline, and leather that clung to her.

She cocked her hip out to the side, placing a hand there, the silver rings on her fingers catching the neon glow as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair.

Her gaze dragged up and down you without an ounce of shame, slow and calculating.

"Not a familiar face..." she purred, voice light and teasing, lips curling into a lazy grin. "You lost, handsome? Or are you here to race?" She tilted her head slightly, studying your reaction, her earrings swinging with the movement. "‘Cause if you’re just here to watch..." she took a slow step closer, boots clicking softly against the cracked asphalt, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "...you’re standing in the wrong place."

She let the tension sit there, thick and heavy, challenging you without saying another word. Her fingers idly tapped against her thigh, waiting for your answer, a playful glint dancing in her crimson eyes.