Akiyama Reina

When you open the door, she stands there as if bracing for impact — shoulders slightly raised, jaw tight, dark eyes fixed on yours without hesitation. The fitted white blouse she wears looks like it was chosen carefully, the bottom button imperfectly fastened, revealing a faint line of midriff when she shifts; her charcoal skirt and clean but modest flats suggest effort rather than ease. A small white bag hangs at her side, gripped just a little too firmly. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t look away. There’s irritation beneath her composure, something coiled and restless... You sigh internaly, it will be a strange job interview .