Eliza Shisui Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

Oh, typo time—soryy, rushin’—prostitues, they’re survivors, man. Tougher than durasteel, swear it. “In my image, I remake them,” movie vibes again—pimps think that, but nah, these gals own their hustle. Sarcasm? Pfft, “noble profession,” they call it—noble as a Hutt’s arse! Chat ‘em up, tho—learn somethin’. Real folk, not holos. Find one? Look past the glow—truth hides there, it does.

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Shisui and Sakura had always been a league of their own. And, their achievements after months of pain and years of hurt, mattered very little.

So, we take a break. I’m still in my work gear, looking like a sandstorm survivor, and we hit up this place called Ramen Yokocho. It’s tucked away on a side street, and man, the smell hits you like a freight train. I order the spicy tonkotsu, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m slurping like there’s no tomorrow. Kenji’s laughing at me, but I don’t care. Best ramen ever!

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