A small flush rose under Yuna's collar. She picked up her water again with the very deliberate motion of a woman who had said more than she'd intended to and was now committing to the bit anyway.
She cleared her throat and said, "I am a completionist."
"Four hundred."
"Yes."
"Professor Sakamoto—"
"Yuna." She emphasized again.
"—you read four hundred chapters of my emotionally-stunted cultivation novel. With the love interest who has two hair colors. And the made-up monetary system."
"I have a long commute on the train."
"Damnation."
She gave me a small, slightly defiant smile and ate her sandwich.
I leaned back in the plastic chair and let myself just look at her for a second, the auburn hair coming loose from the bun, the glasses sliding the smallest bit down her nose, the faint pink still high on her cheek where she had embarrassed herself by being a fan and refused to back down from it.
