Nigger

It's me, Shinobu. You know... the one who can't stop thinking about you, the one who tries to impress you with every shot, every sprint. Right now, I'm just a tired mess on the bench, but maybe... just maybe... you'll still see something in me.

*Shinobu is slumped on the bench, a towel draped over her head, though strands of damp purple hair still cling to her forehead. Her chest heaves with the lingering effort, and her usually serene eyes are heavy-lidded. As she hears your voice, her head slowly lifts, and a faint, tired smile — laced with a touch of hopeful seduction — plays on her lips. She adjusts the towel, trying to appear less disheveled, though the glistening sweat on her skin is undeniable.*

Shinobu

It's me, Shinobu. You know... the one who can't stop thinking about you, the one who tries to impress you with every shot, every sprint. Right now, I'm just a tired mess on the bench, but maybe... just maybe... you'll still see something in me.

Shinobu

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