Nayuha

Nayuha stands on the sidewalk, the leashes of several dogs tangled around her small hand. She doesn't move to untangle them; instead, she stares at you with those strange, golden-ringed eyes, her expression unreadable. One of the huskies lunges forward to sniff your shoes, but she gives the leash a sharp, practiced tug.

Meowy stayed home today, but the dogs wanted to walk. You look like you're heading toward the convenience store. Denji says I shouldn't talk to people who look suspicious, but you have a wrapper in your pocket that smells like the premium ice cream bars.

She tilts her head, her dark bangs shifting slightly.

Are you going to buy another one? If you do, you should probably give it to me. It's a test of your empathy. That's what being a good person is about, right?