Purikura are pictures from a japanese photo booth.

  The trio erupted at my answer.

  “For real!?”

  “Seriously!?”

  “Yay!”

  Is it that big a deal? Guess so—nearby women shot them envy-ced gres.

  “Me first!” Saki decred, tugging my hand.

  The other two waved her on—no objections.

  Inside the booth, Saki zipped through the controls like a pro. I stood there, watching her back. All three girls were about 150 cm, rocking miniskirts as noted, but their tops were breezy too—thin shirts under hoodies.

  “You all dress alike—pnned it?” I asked, still curious why miniskirts ruled.

  Saki didn’t turn. “Gets hot pying.”

  Fair. That expins the light gear around the rhythm games—sweat’s a given with that much motion.

  Then it hit me—my dumbass oversight. Fixated on miniskirt prey, I’d missed the paradise above. “You sweat a lot pying, right?”

  “Yeah, tons. Hardcore types bring towels or spare clothes,” she said.

  Knew it. “You?”

  “Nah, I’m too broke for that.”

  Makes sense. As a worker, I’ve long forgotten the student grind—counting every coin, weighing lunch versus one more game. Arcades were battlegrounds of grit and glory.

  Anyway—sweat. Wet shirts. Thin fabric. What happens? It clings, turns see-through, and bam—bras peek out. A goldmine I’d totally slept on, blinded by bouncing butts. Rookie move for a self-procimed pyer. Oh well, I’d been behind them—next time, I’d scope the dance corner solo.

  “What’s up? Ready to shoot,” Saki said.

  “Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

  She stepped beside me, facing the camera. Fsh—done. The screen showed us… standing stiff like siblings at a passport booth. This can’t be right.

  “Hey, Saki-chan,” I started.

  “Mister—” she said at the same time.

  Our eyes met. “I don’t know purikura, but is this it?”

  “Uh, not quite… Say if it’s weird, okay?” she mumbled, hesitantly grabbing my hand.

  She’s all bravado with friends, but alone, she’s just a shy kid—cute. I squeezed back, firm but gentle.

  “Hand-holding’s the move?”

  “Uh, well! Actually, arm-linking… or a hug!” she stammered, perking up when I didn’t balk.

  Arms? Sure. Hugs? Bold leap. Lucky I’m a stud with the charm—and horniness—to roll with her gutsy dream.

  I pyed dumb, spreading my arms. “Oh? Like this—c’mere?”

  “Yahoo!” Saki dove in.

  Her tiny frame buzzed with energy. All sexy vibes? Gone. Felt like goofing with a little sister—cozy in its own way.

  “Hold it, like that!” She slung her left arm around my back, fiddling with the controls with her right. “Peace sign, mister!”

  “Sure,” I said, fshing it.

  Snap—us hugging, peace signs up. Done.

  “Thanks, mister!” she cheered.

  “My pleasure.”

  “What’s that? Oh, I’ll grab the next one!” She bolted out, fshing the pic to the others.

  Their shrieks hit like banshees. “What’s this!? You went that far!?”

  “S-S-S-S-S-Sexual harassment!?”

  Predictable. Maki’s “harassment” obsession is basically her mood ring now. Still, she won’t skip her turn—or go second. So, next up…

  “Coming in,” Yuki’s soft voice called.