She wished she had even a fraction of that confidence. When people looked at her, she always felt the need to apologize for taking up space. She spent her life trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable, to avoid becoming a target. But Satori seemed to invite the attention, to revel in it—or perhaps he simply didn't consider it worth acknowledging.
"Here we are," Satori said, gesturing to a small, elegant café tucked between a bookstore and a uniform shop. The sign read "Doré Griffon" in flowing golden script, the letters seeming to shimmer in the morning light. Through the windows, Emi could see polished cherry wood tables and plush velvet chairs in deep shades of burgundy and forest green. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prismatic reflections across the gleaming wood floors.
