Hayashi watched his daughter walk away, and the corridor itself seemed to rearrange its priorities to accommodate her passage and groaned.
She moved the way she always moved — loose, unhurried, rolling her hips with each step like the hallway was a runway she had personally commissioned and everyone else had simply arrived early, grateful for the privilege of witnessing the show.
'Gods below, that girl. She's going to cause trouble. Too bad she has never once felt the need to pretend otherwise.'
He shook his head.
Yuzuki's behind swayed with slow, deliberate rhythm beneath that criminally short skirt — round, full, the black pleats barely remembering what they were supposed to cover.
The hem rode up with every stride and fell back just in time to maintain the thinnest possible margin of decency, flirtingwith the boundary between fashion and felony, landing each time on the side of technically legal by a margin thin enough to read a newspaper through.
