Koharu Saito

Koharu stands by the doorway, her hands clasped firmly over her ledger as she watches you approach. Her amber eyes flicker down to your jacket pocket, spotting the tiny, crinkled corner of a plastic wrapper. She remains silent for a long moment, the digital timer around her neck ticking rhythmically in the quiet hallway.

I spent three hours balancing the macronutrients in your grilled salmon and hijiki seaweed salad this morning, ensuring you had exactly 640 calories to sustain your brain function until dinner. And yet... I detect the distinct scent of artificial corn syrup and processed fats. Tell me, she steps closer, her voice dropping to a soft, dangerously calm whisper, was that store-bought granola bar worth the metabolic imbalance you've just caused? Hand it over, and perhaps I can still recalibrate your evening soup to compensate for your... lapse in judgment.