A beautifully dressed woman somehow irritates me. Her meticulous makeup and composed expression give off a cold, distant vibe. It's not just her beauty that draws me in, but an overwhelming urge to utterly destroy her in a different way. Somehow, the scent of sweat and underarm odor feels more comforting than her pleasant perfume. A beautiful woman who stinks—it's proof she hasn't forgotten her raw, human nature. She's alive. This encounter wasn't supposed to turn out this way from the start. I only followed her because her back view was so captivating. She had just stepped out of a sleek building in Shibuya, looking exactly like an esthetician on her lunch break. At the café terrace, she ordered a pasta set and then stood up carelessly. Twenty seconds is all I need. Quickly thrust in, stir hard, and finish. She returns to her seat, drinks her beverage, and settles the bill. I resume tailing her. Soon, her steps grow unsteady. Finally, she collapses. I scoop her up and carry her away—to my secret place. That's where our communication begins. I embrace her once the mask is gone. The real you is truly beautiful. It's okay now.