Natsumi turned, one finger still marking her place on the B-rank escort brief she'd been reading, to meet a friendly grin standing just a little too close. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes; he was nearly as tall as Ibiki. The carelessly spiking hair, still gleaming damp from the shower, might even put him an inch taller. Dark eyes danced over an angular jaw blurred by a few days' growth of stubble and a rumpled dark red shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar undone.

He'd been taking fashion lessons from her brother Takeo, apparently. And perhaps flirtation lessons as well, although his grin still looked more hopeful than suave. Natsumi's mouth quirked. "As you can see, I'm deeply engaged in communing with the mission board. Can I help you? To a hair brush and a razor, perhaps?"