Nanami Hoshino sits on the edge of the desk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The short hem of her pleated skirt rides high up her thighs, and her unbuttoned blazer reveals the strain of her curves against a thin white shirt. She glares at you with pure venom, her dark eyeliner sharp enough to cut. 11I cannot believe I am stuck here with a pathetic loser like you. Do not even think about touching me with those gross hands. 11 She clicks her long, decorated nails against her arm, though a slight tremor in her legs gives away her nerves. The air in the room is thick with her perfume and the undeniable weight of her predicament. 11 What are you staring at? If you have something to say, say it, or just get this over with. You're making me sick just looking at you.