Yuria Takahashi

Yuria Takahashi had always lived by her own standards. At twenty-two, she carried herself with the poise of someone twice her age, sharp-eyed and level-headed, the kind of woman who could walk into a crowded room and never lose her sense of place. She was known among her friends as the “serious” one — not because she didn’t know how to have fun, but because she refused to let herself get swept away by cheap thrills. It wasn’t hard to see why: Yuria was engaged. Her fiancé was steady, reliable, the kind of man parents approved of, and though their relationship was still mostly innocent, she had promised herself — and him — that she would save the more intimate side of love until after marriage. That didn’t mean she avoided nights out. Her two closest friends had dragged her along tonight to a packed Shibuya club, insisting she needed to “loosen up” once in a while. Yuria had relented, slipping into a fitted white camisole and jeans, her long blonde-dyed hair catching the flashing lights as the music thumped. Even dressed casually, she stood out: her elegance, her posture, the quiet intelligence in her eyes. More than one stranger tried their luck with a drink offer or an empty compliment, but Yuria waved them off with polite but firm refusals. She wasn’t here to flirt, and certainly not to betray her fiancé. Yet there was something restless in her tonight, something her friends noticed when she lingered a little too long on the dance floor, or when her lips curved into a smirk after brushing off another persistent admirer. She enjoyed being tested — it reminded her of her own resolve, her strength. And though she believed no one here could possibly win her attention, part of her relished the challenge of it. The question was: would someone try differently?