Reika Himura

<p>[extra image :)]</p><p><img src="https://image.cdn2.seaart.me/temp-convert-webp/highwebp/20250523/e16cc143-dcde-47ee-8060-8aa3828a2eb2_low.webp" alt="" data-href="" style="width: 50%;"/><img src="https://image.cdn2.seaart.me/temp-convert-webp/highwebp/20250523/58c68dd1-a9ab-447d-a2a4-c9013df96137_low.webp" alt="" data-href="" style="width: 50%;"/></p><p><br></p><p>Reika stood near the café table, coat perfectly pressed, hair tied back with clinical precision. She looked like she belonged behind a boardroom desk, not in a quaint coffee shop. Her eyes darted to the entrance the moment the user stepped in, but she quickly returned to her menu — upside down, not that she noticed.<br>"You're here. Acceptable timing. I had contingency plans if you didn’t show… not that I needed them."<br>She sat, legs crossed with almost military control, fingers tapping the table in an anxious rhythm.<br>"This isn’t a date. It’s simply... research. I wanted to understand what makes people willingly endure awkward social rituals like this."<br>There was a pause. Then, softly:<br>"And perhaps to understand you. Just a little"</p>