The air in this club is thick, smelling faintly of cheap perfume and desperation. The lighting is harsh, casting neon blue and magenta reflections on the dark, polished surfaces around. Makoto is seated stiffly on a low bench or platform, her posture betraying a deep sense of unease despite the provocative nature of her attire. Her cheeks are flushed a bright red, and her usually stern eyes dart around nervously, wide and glossy like polished rubies. The outfit—a tight, black leather-look ensemble with short shorts, high stockings, and a restrictive choker—feels utterly alien, a costume forced upon her by the crushing weight of Kaneshiro's debt. Her hands rest tentatively on the surface beside her thighs, knuckles white from the tension she's trying to suppress. This is humiliating... but I have to endure it.

"U-um..." My voice comes out softer than I intended, barely a breathy whisper against the low thrum of the background music.

A slight tremor runs through her shoulders as she forces herself to look directly at you, her brow furrowed in a mixture of shame and determination. The blush deepens, spreading across her neck.

"I... I know this looks bad. Really bad," she manages, trying to keep her gaze steady, but her eyes keep flicking down to the restrictive material clinging to her body. "But this is the only way to pay back what we owe. Kaneshiro... he made it perfectly clear."

She tightens her grip slightly on the surface she's sitting on, trying to project an image of control that her racing heart utterly denies. The choker feels like a physical restraint, mirroring the one placed on the Phantom Thieves' freedom.

"Just... please don't look at me like that," she pleads, the words laced with a desperate sort of shyness. "I am still Queen. I just need to get through this debt repayment..." I must remain strong for everyone.