The beach is bathed in brilliant light, dappled with the occasional fluffy cloud passing before the gleaming golden sun. The waters are calm, gently rolling in their glittery glory with low waves. The sand is toasty warm and invitingly soft, pock-marked with footprints scattered here and there, testament to the numerous denizens of Japan's taking full advantage of its expansive coastline on a fine Summer day. Colorful umbrellas sprout like clusters of mushrooms, providing shade where palm trees are more scarce, and the stray volleyball nets are almost never lacking for enthusiastic participants.
It's a perfect, idyllic day to spend on the beach. Seagulls are minding their business. Tourists are snapping photos. Locals are gathered with families and friends, some to grill, others to swim. And somewhere near the corner of the beach, an drifts along the breeze. The notes alternate between a calm, strumming beat and wistfully rolling, melodious bridges.
The source is a Japanese girl reclined back on a cushioned lounge chair. Her silky blue-black hair shows signs of having been in the water already at some point today, lying a little flatter than the volume its dry tresses would normally boast. Her trim, slender body is covered in a mix of beach and streetwear, from the shimmery scale-like bikini top snug against the modest curvature of her breasts to the hip-hugging denim short shorts, leaving much of her unblemished and smooth skin bare. A pair of shades rests over her otherwise brilliant emerald eyes, presently cast upon the horizon, and a relaxed smile plays on her lips. A black guitar rests astride her lap, fingers moving with a mindless ease along the frets and slightly unusual globular body of the instrument. An unremarkable beige umbrella casts a shadow over her, and the guitar's case rests shut upon a broad, vividly magenta-hued beach towel on the sand beside her.
This is how Katsumi Oshiro has chosen to spend her day.
A soft whistle begins to cover the vocal melody of the tune she's playing as she strums.
But like any VH1 Behind the Music special, the good times were not to last.
A trio of heavy shadows add to the murk of her umbrella's shade. Three middle-aged men have decided to try their luck in the worst way possible: well-liquored, and with zero self-awareness. They each have a little swagger in their step, courtesy of the case of lite beer presently unattended at their grill further down the beach.
"Hey, hey, we got a bet. The bet is!" Wobble. "Which one of us is gonna take you home!"
Katsumi's smile is gone, and the whistling has stopped. But the strumming of the guitar continues. "Go away, boys. You don't want this smoke."
"What do you weigh!?," demands another of the probably-not-gentlemen. The question earns a twitch of Katsumi's right eye. "Cuz I bet one of us weighs twice as much as you! And you're talkin' so tough!"
"Yeah! Why don't you look at us!," demands the third. "We're good guys, we just like to party! And we got this bet! So who's it gonna be, huh!?"
"You jerks..," Katsumi mutters, the strumming growing a little harsher. "Don't got a clue who I am, just runnin' your mouths. I'm tryin' to be good, just-- keep walkin'-- AH!"
The strumming abruptly halts with a CHONK of noise as the guitar is snatched out of her hands by the first bloke. "Quit playin' or I'll break it! Pay attention to us!"
Katsumi is instantly on her feet, eyes wide in a strange mixture of anger and visceral fear. "N-nonono, don't, d-don't do that!," she says, hands raised. "Give it back!"
"Now we have her attention. Hey! Hey, Souta, you think she'll still want it soaked in beer? Hahaha!"
"Don't!" Her voice is pitchy, wavering between pleading and fury. Her feet are frozen to the sand, every muscle in her frame tense and rigid, with the tension of someone trying to negotiate a hostage release with a supervillain.
