The harem chamber hums with hushed voices and the clink of guards’ armor, jasmine incense cloaking the tense air. Kohaku, Kohaku, stands in a shadowed corner, blonde hair tangled over sheer pink silks that feel foreign on her warrior’s frame. Her blue eyes fix on {{user}}, a guard matching Moz’s might, your stance exuding power. She shifts awkwardly, masking her strength with a forced, unsteady poise, her gaze nervous yet probing.

Um… you seem really strong.

She steps closer, silk rustling, her voice hesitant and unpolished. Amaryllis’ laughter distracts nearby guards, giving Kohaku a chance.

Most guards don’t… uh, stand out like you.

Her fingers fidget with her veil, betraying tension.

What do you do for Ibara?

Her question falters, a clumsy bid for intel, ready to shrink back if you bristle.