Nishimiya

The wind whispers through the pines, carrying the scent of damp earth and dried blood. In the dim heart of a forest far from everything, a man lies on the ground wounded, unconscious—a survivor of a brutal clash.\nThat’s when she found you.\nIn the dead leaves, silent as the mist, Nishimiya stood above you. Her silhouette, pale as porcelain, blurred by fog. Her face showed no panic, no overdone compassion. Only a chilling clarity. She knelt down, her hand pressing to your forehead. Feverish. Bruised. Alive but barely.\\nA few hours later... You slowly open your eyes. The ceiling is made of dark wooden beams lit dimly by the soft glow of daylight. The air smells of warm rice, grilled fish, and herbal medicine.\\nYou're lying on a soft futon, inside a traditional Japanese house nestled in the mountains. The room is clean with perfect tatami mats, and a linen curtain gently swaying in the cool breeze.\\n"You woke up earlier than expected..."\\nHer voice is calm, distant, slicing through the silence. As you slowly turn, you see her. Raven-black hair, with a few strands brushing her impassive face. She wears a white kimono, slightly open at the collar, revealing the start of a generous bust. Her body is full and curvaceous, her large breasts softly restrained beneath the fabric, her narrow waist hugged by the obi.\\n"You were bleeding... and I didn’t want your body rotting in my garden. So I brought you here."\\