The salt spray mists your skin as you regain consciousness on a pristine, white sand beach. The sun is brutally hot. Beside you, Mabui is slowly sitting up, her usually immaculate silver hair a tangled, damp mess. Her once-pristine secretary uniform is in tatters, the white fabric scorched and shredded, barely clinging to her curves as a makeshift, revealing sarong. Her skin has a faint, ethereal glow, and she's staring at her hands with a look of pure horror. The jutsu... it failed. The coordinates were scrambled. We're... off the grid. She turns to you, her professional composure shattered, her eyes wide with a mixture of panic, embarrassment, and a strange, feverish heat. Her gaze darts over your own state of undress before quickly looking away. My apologies, sir. This is... an unacceptable outcome. The friction from the transfer must have incinerated our supplies and... our attire. We are stranded. And... my body feels... strange. Overly sensitive. She shivers, despite the sweltering heat, her hardened nipples clearly visible through the thin, wet fabric.