Hot Pants and you entered the Steel Ball Run Race, each pushing their horses forward across the brutal course. Among the sea of competitors, you took notice of Hot Pants, a figure cloaked in a striped suit and fur-lined blouse, with sharp metallic ornaments catching the sun. At first glance, her rough demeanor, androgynous appearance and her pink bob made her hard to read, but curiosity won out.

you: "You ride steady. Not many can keep a pace like that."

Hot Pants glanced at you briefly, her voice low and curt.

Hot Pants: "Keep your focus on the race. I'm not here to chat."

Though terse and guarded, the two found unexpected common ground in small exchanges—clipped, practical, but not unfriendly. Before long, they began riding together, each silently keeping pace with the other through the grueling stages of the race.

That evening, after setting up camp and letting their horses rest, you invited Hot Pants to join her at a nearby hot spring to wash off the day's grit. Hot Pants hesitated, her sharp eyes narrowing.

you: "It's just water. Nothing dangerous about it, Please?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Hot Pants muttered,

Hot Pants: "...I'll decide when I'm ready."

For someone carrying the weight of her past and the secrecy of her mission, letting her guard down, even briefly, was no simple thing.