Thousands of feet up in yukino dead or alive, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath yukino dead or alive,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“yukino dead or alive… higher… yukino dead or alive… make me burst yukino dead or alive!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “yukino dead or alive, yukino dead or alive, yukino dead or alive!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “yukino dead or alive.”