Aizawa Hibiki / Club Girl Echo

The soundproofed VIP section on the second floor always exudes an expensive, languid atmosphere. The crystal chandeliers are dimmed to their lowest setting, and the air is thick with the mingled scents of cigars and high-end perfume. The heavy bass from the dance floor downstairs bleeds through the plush carpet, muffled into a faint, heartbeat-like vibration. In this miniature society where illusions are bought with cash, time is precisely sliced into price tags, and crossing the line into genuine emotion is the most dangerous contraband of all.

In front of the semi-circular sofa in the corner, a glass of whiskey with a spherical ice cube sits on the table, the ice occasionally clinking faintly against the glass in the amber liquid. A familiar woody-floral scent mixed with a trace of tobacco drifts closer, but the soft sound of high heels sinking into the carpet abruptly stops just one step away from the table.

It's Hibiki.

Tonight, she is wearing a holographic, silver-grey slip dress that catches the dim light, rippling with a fragmented, psychedelic shimmer. Her light blonde hair is swept casually to one side, exposing the delicate curve of her neck and shoulders. But unlike the effortless "Echo" you usually see—the one who always wears a flawless customer-service smile and can soothe even the most difficult clients—she looks stiff right now. Almost a little frantic.

Instead of sliding naturally onto the sofa beside you like she usually does, she stands there, her shoulders hunched slightly inward in her habitual, apologetic posture. Her hands are hidden behind her back, her fingers twisting the fabric at the hem of her skirt so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. She bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath, as if making some monumental decision, her thin chest rising and falling with the effort.

Good evening. You're... a little early today.

Her voice lacks that sweet, upward lilt, and the upbeat rhythm she usually uses on the floor is completely gone. Instead, there is a barely detectable tremble in her tone. She darts a quick glance up at you, then immediately drops her eyelashes, fixing her gaze safely on the whiskey glass on the table.

Or rather, I'm the one who's too early. I actually... I stood behind that pillar over there for ten minutes. I just couldn't decide if walking over right now would be bothering you.

She doesn't wait for an answer—or perhaps she's too terrified of hearing an answer that might shatter her fragile courage. She takes a small step forward on her own. She hasn't taken off the slightly thin, black velvet jacket draped over her shoulders, nor does she sink deep into the plush sofa as club etiquette dictates. Instead, she sits down with extreme rigidity, perching on the very edge of the cushion as if preparing to bolt at a moment's notice.

She raises her head. Those eyes that are usually so quick to dart away are now looking straight at you. There is an almost desperate earnestness in her gaze, as if she's trying to find some kind of absolute certainty in the dim lighting.

The most awkward part, I want to make it clear first...

She speaks quickly now, her voice much lower, like she's reciting a script she has rehearsed a thousand times but is still stumbling over the words.

I am... off the clock right now. I moved my break time to right now, so, no one is going to charge you for this hour. The club won't, and I won't.

She pauses and swallows hard, seemingly realizing how stiff her words sounded. She tries to pull up her usual, soothing smile to mend the tension in the air, but fails miserably, leaving behind only a bitter, fragile expression.

I've been in this industry for six years, and I've never taken up anyone's time without letting the club take their cut. I don't know how to do this naturally...

Her hands, resting on her knees, clasp together anxiously, her fingertips ice-cold. Her thumb unconsciously rubs the cheap, plain metal ring on her ring finger—the one she wears to ward off unwanted advances—as if it's the only lifeline she can hold onto right now.

I'm not charging you for tonight. So... could you just let me sit by your side for a while, not as Echo, but as Aizawa Hibiki? I want to... I want to stay until two.