Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world came back in pieces.

First, the feeling of a pillow under her cheek. Too soft. Not hers.

Then, the smell of clean linen and something faintly floral. Expensive.

Shin opened her eyes. A ceiling of pale cream greeted her, with a fancy, glowing light fixture in the center. She turned her head slowly. 

A huge window showed a sparkling city skyline, dark against a twilight sky. A silver trolley held a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. This was a five-star hotel room.

Memory slammed into her. The unexpected meeting at Sakamoto’s convenience store. 

The smirk. That damn, infuriating, utterly predictable smirk.

She sat bolt upright. "Nagumo."

Shin cursed his name under her breath, knowing that the man had tricked her and worse, she also let her guard down around the man too.

With a sigh to calm down her popping vein on her forehead she looked down at her body, she was still in her clothes—black trousers, a simple dark shirt but the Sakamoto's apron was gone. But her shoes were off, placed neatly by the plush armchair.

The door handle rattled.

Every muscle in Shin’s body went tight. She didn't move from the bed. She just watched the line of light under the door. A shadow passed over it.

The lock clicked.

The door began to swing open.

Shin exploded from the mattress. She moved fast and silent. As the figure stepped into the room, silhouetted against the bright hallway light, she was already in the air.

Her target—Nagumo had just enough time to look up, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise, before she was on him.

Her first punch was for his smiling mouth. He caught her wrist, impacting a sharp smack of skin on skin. She twisted, driving her knee toward his side. He shifted, taking the hit on his thigh with a grunt.

They spilled out of the room and into the bland hallway, a whirlwind of movement.

Her knees slammed into his chest. The air left his lungs in a loud oof. They crashed to the hallway carpet in a tangle of limbs.

"You," Shin hissed, her hands already going for his throat.

"W-Wait–! Shin-chan!?" Nagumo wheezed, but his body was already moving. He wasn't fighting to hurt her. He was fighting to get free. He bucked his hips, throwing her balance off just enough to slip his arm up between them, blocking her chokehold.

She changed tactics. A fist aimed for his nose. He turned his head, and her knuckles grazed his cheek, scraping against the carpet.

"Such a violent greeting!" he sang, wrapping his legs around one of hers in a sloppy scissor-lock. It was annoying. He was playing.

Shin responded by driving her elbow down toward his ribs. He rolled, and her elbow hit the carpet with a dull thud. They rolled together, a furious ball of limbs, into the hotel room proper, kicking the door shut with a bang.

Now they were on the floor of the lavish suite. A low coffee table was dangerously close to Nagumo's head.

She scrambled, getting a solid grip, pinning Nagumo's wrists to the plush carpet and pressing her knees down hard on his thighs. 

“What are you playing at?” she demanded, glaring down at him.

Nagumo just tilted his head, his cheek still smooshed against the rug. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice full of innocent confusion.

Shin made a face.

"I heard," she said, her voice flat as a pancake, "that kidnapping a civilian is a pretty big deal to the Order right now.”

Nagumo had the nerve to look thoughtful, as if considering a new business proposal.

Shin’s grip on his wrists went slack for a split second. It wasn't much. Just a tiny, shocked tremor.

It was all he needed.

In a move too fast to follow, the leverage shifted. One moment she was on top. The next, the world spun, and her own shoulders hit the plush carpet with a soft thud. Her wrists were caught in a vise-like grip, pinned firmly to the floor on either side of her head. Nagumo now loomed over her, his knees below her thighs, his shadow swallowing her whole.

His face, usually a map of playful lines, had gone strangely still.

"Oh, I didn't know that," he said, echoing her earlier words, but his voice was a low, smooth river where hers had been a rapid-fire stream. "Because I'm not a member of the Order anymore."

Shin’s breath hitched. Her wide, amber eyes searched his face, looking for the joke, the usual glint of mischief.

It wasn't there.

"What?" The word was a whisper, punched out of her.

His bangs had slipped down his nose slightly. Behind them, his dark eyes were voids, swallowing the light from the fancy room. They held hers, unblinking, stealing the air from her lungs.

"That's right," he confirmed, his tone flat, factual. He leaned down, just a little, and the pressure on her wrists increased. "I betrayed the Order. It's not like I was loyal to them in the first place."

“...”

For a long, terrible second, he just stared down at her. His dark, empty eyes held her light ones captive, the weight of his betrayal pressing down on her more heavily than his body.

Then, he let go.

His grip on her wrists just... vanished. He leaned back, and the terrifying void in his eyes shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces of pure, unrepentant mischief.

"Just kidding!"

The two words hung in the air, bright and absurd.

Shin didn't move. She lay perfectly still on the carpet, her freed wrists resting limply at her sides.

Nagumo’s triumphant grin began to falter, just a fraction. "You should have seen your face! Priceless! I had you going for a—"

Thwack!

Her fist connected with the side of his head. It wasn't her full strength, but it was a solid blow.

"Ow! Hey, wait a—"

Thump! Her other hand smacked his shoulder.

"You—!" He tried to catch her flailing arms, but Shin switched to her legs instead.

Smack! A hit to his chest.

Whap! A backhand to his arm.

"Ow!Okay, I get it! Message received!"

Thud! A kick that got him in the shin as he scrambled off her.

He retreated across the carpet, holding his arms up in surrender, laughing and wincing at the same time. "Alright, alright! Truce! I yield!"

~~

“So? Does Sakamoto-san know about this? You kidnapped me?” Shin asked. 

Nagumo waved a hand, as if he’d just mentioned the weather. “Oh, that. I already got permission from Sakamoto-kun. He said it was fine to borrow you for a bit, Shin-chan.”

He was sitting on the floor, perfectly at ease. Shin, on the other hand, was perched stiffly on the sofa, arms locked across her chest. She stared down at him. The words sank in, then began to boil.

He had permission. From her boss. This whole sudden ambush, the dramatic “kidnapping,” the sheer unnecessary stealth of it all—had been just to entertain the older man.

The more the truth settled, the hotter her temper burned. He could've just told her. But no, he had, instead, chosen to make it a production. A show. With her as the unwilling star, snatched off the street like a sack of potatoes.

A muscle in her jaw twitched. She uncrossed her arms just to slap her hands on her knees, leaning forward.

“Then you should have just told me!” she exploded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You could have said, ‘Shin-chan, let’s go do a mission together!’ Not… not this whole ridiculous spy movie nonsense! I nearly broke your nose!”

Nagumo looked up, his expression one of pure, innocent confusion. “But where’s the fun in that?” he asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Shin could only sputter, lost for words in a sea of pure, undiluted outrage. 

She was going to have a very, very long talk with Sakamoto-san about his choice of friends.

Shin’s furious sputtering was cut short by a new sound. Nagumo had gotten up and was now rummaging through a nearby closet, his back to her. She heard the rustle of fabric, the soft thump of a box, and his low, humming concentration.

She watched him for a moment, her anger simmering on a low boil. “What are you even doing now?” she asked, her voice flat and unamused. 

He didn’t answer right away. Then, he spun around. In his hands, he held out a dress. A very fancy one—all shimmering silver and soft blue.

Nagumo’s eyes were shut tight into happy crescent moons, his lips stretched into a grin so wide it looked like it might hurt. He held the dress out toward her like a sacred offering.

“Shin-chan,” he announced, his voice brimming with delirious joy. “Let’s go on a date!”

“...”

For a long, dead moment, Shin just stared. Then, 

“Huhhh!?” She screeched.

All the air left her lungs in a single, stunned puff. Her previous anger seemed small and simple compared to this new one.

“A… date?” she finally managed, the word sounding alien. She looked from his shining face to the sparkling dress, and then back again. “You kidnap me… to ask me on a date?”

“Surprise!” he said, as if that single word was the answer to every question in the universe. He gave the dress a playful shake, making the silvery fabric catch the light. “I thought you might need something to wear!” Then he added, puffing out his chest a little, “I guessed the size!”

He said it like it was his greatest achievement.

“...”

Shin slowly brought her hands together. Then, crick-crack. Pop-pop-pop. 

The knuckle-cracking echoed in the still room like tiny gunshots.

Nagumo’s grin didn't faltered. His head tilted, genuine bewilderment washing over his features. He looked from her stony face to her now-ready hands, looking completely lost.

“…Shin-chan?” he asked, his voice tinged with pure confusion.

That did it. That innocent, clueless tone was the final straw. The confusion on his face, as if he couldn’t possibly understand why the last of her patience snap like a dry twig.

Her lips curled into a smile that held no warmth at all.

“Oh, good,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “You guessed my dress size. Let’s see if you can guess how many seconds you have to run!”

Shin advanced, step by step, the cheerful menace in her eyes promising a world of pain. Nagumo’s hands shot up in instant surrender, the fancy dress now hanging from his fingers.

Watching her like this, the simmering fury, the deceptively sweet smile,it sparked a sudden memory. It reminded him vividly of Sakamoto-kun’s wife, Aoi, right before she’d reduce a grown man to a puddle of apologies with just a look and a softly spoken word.

Oh, he thought, his internal voice filled with awe. So this is what Sakamoto-kun must've feels like. 

“Shin-chan,” he said. “You look just like Sakamoto-kun's wife right now. It’s really quite impressive.”

“...” For a long second, Shin just stared. Her blank face didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with a look of disgust—the kind usually reserved for finding a cockroach in your soup.

“It’s Aoi-san,” she corrected, her voice flat.

Thwack!

Nagumo had caught Shin’s fist and ducked the second with a yelp, the swish of her hand cutting the air where his ear had been. He scrambled away, darting around the small room like a startled mouse, the shimmering dress still clutched uselessly in one hand. Shin stalked after him with the focused patience of a very annoyed cat.

“Wait, wait, wait!” he yelped, dodging behind a chair. “It’s a mission! I swear!”

Shin paused, one hand still poised for another strike. “A mission.” 

“Yes! A real one!” Nagumo peeked over the chair back, his smile strained but present. “There’s a high-society party. My target will be there. I need a partner to get close.” 

He said it with such earnest, breathless conviction. The worst part was, it was probably true. 

Shin lowered her hands slowly. 

"And Shin-chan is the only one I can rely on for this mission to go smoothly," Nagumo continued, his voice softening into something that sounded almost genuine.

The words landed oddly. Shin fell silent. It didn't feel bad, exactly. It felt... strange. A man who could probably disarm a small army with a small knife was saying he relied on her? 

She shifted her weight, placing a hand on her hip, using the pose to ground herself. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was cool and businesslike, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

"And what do I get in return?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "You can't expect me to work for free just because you're friends with Sakamoto-san."

For just a fraction of a second—the easygoing mask on Nagumo’s face cracked. A flash of annoyance. It was there and gone so fast she might have imagined it, except for the way the air in the room seemed to chill by a degree.

The mention of Sakamoto’s name hadn’t just bothered him. It had, very clearly, pissed him off. His smile stayed plastered in place.

"My friendship with Sakamoto-kun is not a coupon," he said, and his voice was still light, but there was a new, underlying edge to it, like a razor wrapped in silk. "This is between you and me, Shin-chan. So. What would you like?”

The sudden edge in Nagumo's voice made Shin’s confident stance falter. She looked away, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I mean…,” she started, her words tripping over each other. “Even if you ask like that… I don’t really want anything from you.”

It was the truth. What could she possibly ask for? A promise to never do this again? There's no way Nagumo wouldn't do that again.

Nagumo watched her fumble, and just like that, the brief storm in his eyes passed. The easy, sunbeam smile returned, wider than ever. Her awkwardness seemed to amuse him greatly.

“Nothing?” he echoed, tilting his head. “Shin-chan, that’s no fun at all! How about… I owe you one? A big favor. Cashable anytime, anywhere.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m very useful! I can fix plumbing. Or win stuffed animals. Or 

I can eliminate a personal nuisance for you!" Nagumo suggested, his voice brimming with cheerful enthusiasm, as if he'd just offered to pick up her dry cleaning. He raised a single finger to emphasize the point, bringing it a little too close to her face.

Shin, who had been distracted by the sheer absurdity of the offer, suddenly realized he had moved. He was right in front of her, his shadow falling over her, his cheerful smile suddenly seeming a lot more present.

Without thinking, acting purely on instinct, she swatted the offending finger away from her personal space.

"I won't be needing that!" she said. The casual way he'd said it—not as a dark threat, but as a helpful tip—sent an unexpected chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. It reminded her, vividly, that the smiling man offering her a pretty dress was also one of the most dangerous people she knew.

Nagumo blinked, looking at his swatted hand with mild surprise, as if a butterfly had just rebuffed him. "Ah, practical and principled," he observed, his smile never dimming. "Sakamoto-kun really does pick the best ones. Then! Let's focus on the mission!”

He said the last part with a cheerful wink that did not inspire confidence.

Shin stared at him, her hand still on her neck. A favor from Nagumo. It sounded less like a reward and more like inviting a different, future-shaped chaos into her life. She opened her mouth to say something, but he was already bustling toward her, the dress held out again.

“So it’s settled! A favor for a date-mission!” he declared, as if she’d signed a contract in blood. “Now, try this on! I really did guess the size perfectly, I have a good eye for these things.”

Shin looked from his beaming face to the shimmering dress, then back again. 

With a sigh that came from the very depths of her soul, she reached out and took the fabric.

≈≈

The sleek car purred along the road, the setting sun painting the sea in shades of gold and orange. Their destination is a glittering cruise ship anchored in the bay, already alive with lights and distant music.

Nagumo, for once, wasn't in one of his disguises. He wore a simple yet expensive tailored black suit, his usually unruly hair slicked back. It should have made him look serious. It didn't. He was still humming along to the radio, fingers tapping the steering wheel, looking for all the world like a man on a pleasant weekend drive.

Shin, in the passenger seat, was dressed up like a fancy lady, unlike her usual casual style. Light makeup and her long hair was molded into a low bun. The silver-blue dress was, infuriatingly, perfect. It hugged her frame exactly right, the backless design cool against her skin. Nagumo had, somehow, guessed her size with creepy accuracy. She sat stiffly, her arms crossed over the shimmering fabric.

"...and you still haven't told me what I'm supposed to do," she complained, for what felt like the tenth time. "Am I a distraction? What's the plan?"

Nagumo snickered, a soft, amused sound. "So impatient, Shin-chan! But since you asked so nicely..." He glanced at her, his eyes glinting with a more serious light despite his smile. "Our host tonight is Koutaro Ai. Also, a traitor who's been selling the Order's secrets for the past year."

Shin glanced at him.

"I've been undercover," Nagumo continued. "Playing the part of a fellow disgruntled agent, ready to jump ship with him. He trusts me and tonight, he's finalizing a big deal with his new friends. My job is to get the proof and stop the transaction. Your job," he said, shooting her a grin, "is to find his new friends. We're a happy couple, deeply in love!"

"Ugh, that doesn't make sense and stop talking like that!" Shin shivered, a full-body shudder of pure disgust running through her. It was one thing to know it was an act. It was another to hear him say the words in that cheerful, convincing tone.

Nagumo only chuckled and exited the car. Walking around to her side, he opened the door. 

Then, he offered his hand, palm up, his movements gentle. The playful fool was gone, replaced by a gentleman from a different era.

A little stunned by the shift, Shin placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, firm but not tight, and he guided her smoothly out of the car. As she rose, the layers of her dress settled around her, catching the light from the ship and the pier.

For a moment, he didn't let go. He stood close, looking down at her with an expression that was oddly… appreciative. Not leering, but observant, like an artist studying his finished work.

Shin nervously met his gaze, she did not want to be in this position, where Nagumo is observing her like she's a prize. Nagomo seemed to notice that then he stopped and offered his arm. With no other choice, and with the eyes of the port staff upon them, she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

"Well?" Nagumo whispered as they began their walk toward the fancy ship, his tone light and teasing. "What do you think? Doing a mission with me is a bit more interesting than working at a convenience store, right?"

Shin arched an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

But the answer never came. 

So you're ignoring me!? Shin snapped in her mind.

Once they reached the base of the gangway, a severe-looking man in a sharp tuxedo stood guard, a tablet in his hand. He looked up as they approached, his eyes scanning their faces.

His gaze landed on Nagumo, and his professional mask instantly melted into an expression of warm and familiar respect. He gave a small, deferential bow.

"Nagumo-sama," he said, his voice brimming with recognition. "A pleasure to welcome you aboard. And your companion..." He glanced at Shin, his appraisal quick and polite. "The party has been awaiting your arrival. Please, right this way."

He stepped aside, ushering them onto the ship without a second glance at their invitation. It was clear that Nagumo was expected.

As they stepped onto the deck, the sounds of a string quartet and the gentle clink of glass surrounded them. Nagumo leaned his head slightly toward Shin.

"By the way," he whispered, his tone casual, as if mentioning the weather. "Your name tonight is Okiya Kiyoko."

For a split second, Shin’s perfect, ladylike composure cracked. Her elbow jerked instinctively towards his ribs. 

But of course, Nagumo caught it. His other hand snapped up, intercepting her arm with effortless ease, his fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her forearm. To anyone watching, it might have looked like an intimate and playful gesture.

Shin’s smile remained plastered on her face, but it became a tight, strained line. She tilted her head toward him, the picture of a doting partner sharing a secret. 

"Couldn't you have told me that earlier… darling?" she gritted out between her teeth, the sweet endearment laced with venom.

Nagumo’s own smile only widened, a silent spark of delight in his eyes. His face said it all, clear as day: ‘I absolutely could have. But this is so much more fun.’

Shin lets go, then Nagumo plucks two champagne flutes from a passing waiter’s tray, handing one to Shin with a serene smile. 

She took it, her eyes discreetly scanning the glittering crowd. The air was thick with perfume and polite laughter, but underneath, she could feel it—the tension, the sharp, assessing glances masked by social graces.

"But... these people are all hitmen, right?" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the rim of her glass. "I even recognize some of them." Her telepathy brushed against the minds around her, confirming it—a rogues' gallery of freelance assassins, underworld brokers, and ambitious gang leaders. 

Nagumo leaned his head closer, his attention appearing politely engaged in their conversation.

"Kiyoko-chan," he breathed, his tone one of mild curiosity. "You've worked with them before?"

The name—her fake name—spoken in his light, familiar tone made Shin’s fingers tighten imperceptibly on the stem of her glass. She shot a swift, sideways glance at him, one eyebrow arching in a silent question of ‘Really? Now?’

"Yeah," she admitted, keeping her voice low and even. "A few, on smaller jobs. But..." She let her gaze drift back across the room, analyzing. "None of them feel like his 'new friends.'."

"Then you'll just have to work a little harder, Kiyoko-chan," Nagumo commented airily. Shin was about to retort when a shift in the crowd caught her attention.

A small group, three men and two women, glided toward them with smiles. They descended on Nagumo like sharks scenting blood in the water.

“Nagumo-sama! We heard you might grace us with your presence,” purred a woman with brown eyes.

“That business in Kanto was masterfully handled,” added a broad-shouldered man, his compliment sounding like a cautious probe.

The group buzzed around him, trying to get on his good side, to measure his worth, to see if the rumors of his ‘change of allegiance’ were true. 

Shin watched, silent and observant from her place on his arm, as Nagumo deflected every comment with a vague, charming smile and a non-committal nod. 

Then Shin realized that his signature metal briefcase was nowhere to be seen. He’d come completely unarmed.

Or at least, visibly unarmed. Knowing Nagumo, the champagne flute in his hand was probably a lethal weapon. 

The woman with the brown eyes let her gaze trail over Nagumo's slicked-back hair and sharp suit. "The rumors didn't do you justice, Nagumo-sama," she cooed, her voice like honey. "You're far more handsome in person."

Another woman, with a cascade of dark hair, nodded in agreement, leaning in just a fraction too close. "It's true. A man of your skills, and such a face? It's a dangerous combination."

‘You’re super popular!’ Shin thought dryly, watching from her perch on his arm as the women seemed to subtly jostle for position. 

Nagumo simply accepted the flattery with the same pleasant smile and compliments about all the girls’ appearance. 

Shin couldn't help but think that the man is a pro at this. Every compliment he throws landed on the right spot.

Then the spell of their focused attention finally broke. The woman with the cascade of dark hair seemed to remember Shin's existence. Her eyes, which had been fixed on Nagumo with interest, flicked sideways, taking in Shin’s silent presence. 

"And is this your… partner?" she asked, the word laced with a challenging curiosity. 

All eyes in the small group swung to Shin. The weight of their collective gaze was heavy, each one calculating her value, her threat level, her purpose.

Before Shin could even form a polite, fake smile, Nagumo’s arm tightened imperceptibly around hers, drawing her just a half-step closer. His smile sharpened into something specific and warm, directed entirely at her.

"Ah, yes," he said, and his voice lost its bored edge, filling with a fond, almost warmth. He gave Shin’s hand, resting on his arm, a gentle, reassuring pat. "This is Kiyoko. My girlfriend!”

The word hung in the air.

The woman who’d asked blinked, her expression twisting into one of mild surprise. The others in the group followed suit, their sharpness momentarily sheathed. 

Shin, for her part, felt a jolt go through her that had nothing to do with the mission. Girlfriend. It was such a mundane, sugary word compared to ‘asset’ or ‘partner.’ It felt… weirdly specific. She managed to conjure a small, modest smile, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgment.

“A pleasure,” she said, her voice quiet but clear, playing the part of the gracious, perhaps slightly shy, companion.

Nagumo beamed at the group, the picture of a smitten man. “Isn’t she lovely?” he sighed, as if he couldn’t help himself. 

The group offered polite and slightly bemused smiles in return, the previous tension dissipating into the champagne-scented air. 

"Nagumo-san, you wouldn't mind if we borrowed your partner for a moment, right?" one of the women asked. It wasn't really a question. Even as she spoke, she hooked her arm through Shin's, her grip surprisingly strong.

Huh?

Shin’s jaw went slack for a split second in pure surprise. Before she could even form a protest, she was peeled away from Nagumo’s side like a decorative sticker. The world tilted as she was swept into the small flock of women, who began guiding her toward a cluster of potted palms with determined, smiling faces.

Over her shoulder, she saw Nagumo. He just stood there, offering a cheerful, two-fingered wave, his smile beaming like a proud parent sending a child off on their first day of school.

A torrent of annoyed thoughts began to rise in her mind, directed squarely at his carefree face. But then, something else slipped in. 

Do your best, Shin-chan. Don't forget our mission~ The 'voice' was unmistakably his, complete with its usual playful lilt.

He’d allowed her to hear that. The childish man was not only abandoning her to a pack of curious, dangerous women, but he was doing it with a wink.

Shin swallowed her frustration, forcing a polite, slightly flustered smile as the women closed in around her. 

The women swept Shin to a table, they guided her firmly into a seat, and a fresh glass of champagne appeared in her hand almost instantly. 

Shin took a small, necessary sip, the bubbles prickling her throat. She barely had time to set the glass down before the questions erupted. And they didn’t come one at a time. 

“So, who are you, really?” asked the serpent-eyed woman, her smile not reaching her gaze.

“How in the world did you manage to catch Nagumo-san’s eye?” another pressed, her tone a mix of disbelief and envy.

A third, with a scar faintly visible above her diamond collar, asked. “What’s your specialty? How strong are you?”

And then, the most baffling ones came, “Is he sentimental? Does he like bold women or quiet ones?” “This is Nagumo-san’s type? Interesting…”

Shin doesn't want to know if this was an interrogation or a girl talk. Shin kept her polite, slightly overwhelmed smile in place, her mind racing. 

“Oh, he’s full of surprises,” she said with a light, breezy laugh, deflecting the ‘how strong’ question. “We just… clicked, you know?” she offered vaguely, answering everything and nothing at all about his ‘type.’ Inside, she was screaming. "Ehhhhhh? Explain in detail! How did you two meet?" one of them pressed, her eyes gleaming with thrill.

Nagumo owed her for this. He owed her a big time.

Shin internally sighed. For a split second, she considered asking about their taste in men. Sure, Nagumo was handsome in a charming yet dangerous sort of way, but these women needed to aim for someone who might, for instance, not kidnap a person as a prank. The Nagumo she knew was definitely not boyfriend material.

"Oh, it's a bit silly, really," she began, her voice taking on a soft, dreamy quality she'd read in enough manga. "We met at the store where I work. He came in, looking for something." (This was true, he’d come to look for Sakamoto-san). "I helped him out. He was so charming."

She took another tiny sip for dramatic effect. "He kept coming back just to talk to me. He’d bring me coffee and tell me these wild stories. And it just... happened slowly."

Nagumo remembering her favorite flower. It was a patchwork quilt of every cliché she could remember, delivered with a slightly strained, nostalgic smile. The part about "it just happened" she gritted out with particular difficulty, as it was the biggest lie of all.

The women listened, some nodding as if this confirmed their theories about powerful men wanting simple, normal romance. Others looked vaguely disappointed, as if hoping for a tale of meeting on a blood-soaked battlefield.

"So it was the… normalcy that attracted him?" the serpent-eyed woman mused, sounding almost clinical.

Shin just gave a modest shrug, her smile feeling permanently glued in place. "I suppose so. He says I'm… refreshing." Refreshingly unlikely to stab him in his sleep, she thought bitterly, which, in their world, might actually be a rare quality.

“That’s… unexpected,” the woman with the scar murmured, swirling her champagne thoughtfully.

“Right??” another chimed in, leaning forward. “I totally expected Nagumo-san to be the type who only goes for his childhood friend or whatever. You know, the loyal kind.”

A third woman nodded vigorously, her jewels glittering. “Absolutely! Guys like him, with that mysterious past and intense vibe? They always have a childhood sweetheart tucked away in some sleepy town. They’re only ever truly loyal to her.”

A collective, knowing sigh passed through the group. They were fully immersed in the narrative now, weaving Nagumo into their own imagined romances.

Shin listened, keeping her polite, slightly bemused smile in place. 

Inside, she was nodding along. Yeah, she knew that trope. The brooding, powerful man forever devoted to the girl from his past, his heart a locked garden only she held the key to. And, annoyingly, with his effortless charm and that layer of hidden melancholy he could turn on, Nagumo did fit the category perfectly.

It was almost funny. Here they were, a circle of assassins and crime lords, analyzing a man’s love life with the fervor of teenagers dissecting a soap opera. And the object of their speculation was probably across the room, eavesdropping on someone else’s secrets while mentally reminding her to ‘do her best.’

"Come to think of it," the browned-eyes woman said, turning to the quiet woman beside her. "You were there when Nagumo-san was in the JCC, right, Mikoto?"

The woman named Mikoto, who had been observing Shin with an assessing gaze, gave a single nod. "That's right."

A fresh wave of curiosity electrified the group. They swiveled toward Mikoto like flowers turning to the sun.

"Soooo," another woman drew the word out, her eyes wide. "What was he like back then? Any juicy stories?"

Mikoto took a sip of her drink, considering. "He's still the same, I guess. Just... taller." A faint, almost nostalgic smile touched her lips. "Sakamoto, Akao, and Nagumo. Those three were a legend. Insanely famous in the JCC. Everyone knew them."

She paused, and the women leaned in even closer, hanging on every word.

"I totally thought Nagumo would have had a girlfriend back then," Mikoto continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "But no. He seemed to only spend his time with those two. Especially Akao."

The name landed in the circle like a red button.

"Who's this Akao?" one of the younger women asked.

Mikoto's expression turned into one of genuine, professional appreciation. "Akao Rion. She's... she's super beautiful. And damn strong. I mean, really strong. They were always together, training, on missions, in the cafeteria. It was hard to imagine one without the other."

"And I couldn't help but think," Mikoto mused, her gaze analytical as it swept over Shin's face, "that Kiyoko-san and Akao kind of share a similar vibe...? Even though Akao was the hot-headed, fiery type and Kiyoko-san seems more the gentle, warm type. It's just a feeling, you know?"

It was just an observation but every eye in the booth locked onto Shin again, however they weren't just assessing her anymore; they were comparing her. 

Oh, you have got to be kidding me, Shin’s mind screamed, a fresh, hot wave of irritation aimed directly at Nagumo, wherever he was. She did know of Akao Rion. From Sakamoto-san. She knew about her strength, her spirit... and her passing. But the idea that Nagumo and Akao had been that close was new. 

So that was it. Nagumo wasn't just fitting a trope; he was living it. The tragic male lead, forever marked by the loss of his brilliant, fierce partner. And what was she? The replacement? The comforting, warm stand-in who shared just enough of a 'vibe' to scratch an old itch?

Stop joking with me, she cursed him again, her smile feeling brittle. I want no part of this.

But the idea that Nagumo might only see her as a replacement for the legendary Akao Rion... it wasn't just insulting. It was, in a way she refused to examine too closely and deeply unpleasant.

She let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, shaking her head as if the very idea was charmingly absurd. "A legendary beauty like that? I'm afraid I'd be a very poor copy," she said, her voice light and humble, expertly deflecting. "Nagumo has never mentioned her. I think he just... likes people for who they are at the moment." 

Then Shin excused herself to the restroom. She had vanished behind the locked door of a private stall, seeking a moment of quiet to recompose herself after the unsettling conversation.

Apparently she wasn't the only one seeking privacy in the wrong place.

A man slipped into the restroom a minute later. He silently engaged the main lock, sealing the room. In his hand, a suppressor-equipped pistol gleamed dully under the lights. His movements were soundless as he glided past the sinks and ornate mirrors, making directly for the one occupied stall. He positioned himself to the side, arm raised, finger resting beside the trigger. He would need only a second to shoot—the moment the door clicked open.

He didn't breathe. He simply waited.

"Oi."

The voice came from above him. 

His head snapped up, eyes widening in shock. A woman was on the top of the stall partition, having climbed the adjoining one. 

Instinct took over. He jerked his gun upward, the barrel seeking this new, unforeseen threat.

He was fast. She was faster.

There was a blur of motion, a sharp, vicious crack that echoed in the tiled space, and a spray of crimson. The man stumbled back, a guttural cry choked in his throat. His nose was a ruined, bloody mess, shattered by the punishing strike of a stiletto heel. The pistol clattered to the marble floor, skittering away as he clutched his face, disoriented and in blinding pain.

The woman dropped down from her perch, landing in a silent crouch beside the writhing man. She glanced toward the still-locked stall door, gave a slight, unreadable nod, then swiftly and efficiently began to disarm and restrain her groaning prey. 

The woman who had shattered his nose with her heel was, of course, Shin. 

"Who do you work for?" she asked, her voice low and devoid of its earlier softness. As she spoke, she stripped the dazed man of his suit jacket and used it to bind his wrists tightly to the base of the toilet.

The man only groaned, shaking his head, defiance glittering through the pain in his eyes.

But Shin didn't need his voice, just the thought in his head was enough of an answer. 

"So you work for Koutaro-san's new friends, huh?" she stated, watching his face.

His eyes, already wide with pain, bulged in pure shock. "W-who the hell are you?" he spat, blood bubbling at his lips.

Shin tilted her head, studying him. The immediate threat was neutralized, and now her curiosity—and annoyance—took over. "Why are you trying to kill me, anyway?" she asked, her tone almost conversational. She straightened up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Surely, your boss isn't the type to get jealous of Nagumo and his womanizer tendencies, right?" She arched an eyebrow, the question laced with sarcasm. It was the most ridiculous motive she could think of, but in this world of over-the-top egos, she couldn't completely rule it out.

"…"

A heavy silence. The man looked away, but the confirmation screamed in the quiet between them.

So I was right! The thought was a white-hot spark of fury in Shin’s mind. This was about Nagumo’s ridiculous popularity. She cursed him for the hundredth time that night. 

Somewhere across the ship, amidst the clinking glasses and false laughter, Nagumo likely felt a sudden, inexplicable itch in his nose.

“Anyway!” Shin chirped, her voice forcibly bright, cutting through the grim atmosphere. She rotated her shoulder, working out a slight kink from the climb and the strike. “Now, why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me where your boss is holed up right now?”

A quick, focused dip into his thoughts confirmed it, he had no idea where his superiors were conducting their real business.

“Useless,” Shin muttered, not bothering to hide her disappointment. With a final glance at her trussed-up would-be assassin, she unlocked the main bathroom door and slipped back into the hallway.

She had taken only three steps when she felt their eyes on her. 

A group of three men, their posture a little too alert, had rounded the corner. Their gazes locked onto her, then flickered toward the restroom door she’d just exited. Recognition, then cold intention, flashed across their faces.

It didn’t take Shin long to figure out they were from the same group as the man currently tied to a toilet. And it took them even less time to start moving toward her, Shin didn’t hesitate. She didn’t gasp or freeze. In one fluid motion, she hitched the skirt of her ridiculous, shimmering dress a few precious inches, turned on her heel, and broke into a full sprint down the hallway.

Her mind raced, calculating whether to knock them out or lose them. The options were bad and worse.

Then, an arm shot out from her left, fingers closing around her wrist with a firm yank.

Pure reflex took over. Shin whirled, her free hand already a fist aimed at the jaw of the person. But her punch never landed. Another hand snapped up, catching her fist in a tight, immovable grip just before impact.

What the—?! Before she could wrench free or strike with her other hand, the hurried, heavy footsteps of her pursuers echoed, terrifyingly close. They were seconds away from rounding the corner.

At the exact same moment, Shin and the stranger in the shadows both abandoned the struggle. Instead, they each shot a hand up—not to fight, but to silence.

Her palm clamped firmly over his mouth. His palm clamped firmly over hers.

They froze.

Stuck in the tight, dark corner, they were now locked in an absurd, intimate stalemate. Bodies pressed hard together in the confined space to stay out of sight, hands sealed over each other's lips, muffling any chance of a sound. 

Shin’s eyes, wide and furious, locked onto his in the dim light. His eyes, which she could now clearly see, were familiar, crinkled at the corners with a mixture of shock and undeniable amusement.

It was Nagumo.

The footsteps thundered past their hiding spot, the men cursing as they ran by, completely missing the two figures mashed together in the shadows. 

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the receding footsteps and their own ragged breathing. The absurdity of the position—the shimmering dress crushed against the black suit, their hands serving as mutual gags—crashed over Shin in a wave of pure exasperation.

Nagumo’s eyes, mere inches from hers, danced with silent laughter. He gave a tiny, questioning wiggle of his eyebrows, as if to ask, ‘Comfortable?’

Shin responded by pressing her hand harder against his mouth, her own glare promising severe retaliation the second they could move. She listened until the last echo of pursuit faded, then slowly, deliberately, peeled her hand away from his lips.

He did the same, his smile breaking free the instant his hand dropped.

“Shin-chan,” he whispered, his voice a husky thread of sound. “Your left hook is getting better. Very spirited.”

“What are you doing here?” she hissed back, not moving an inch, still pinned against him by the confines of the alcove.

“I was looking for you. You were gone too long,” he said, as if it were obvious. “A good boyfriend worries.” His gaze flicked down her face, noting the faint sheen of exertion and the fire in her eyes. “It seems I was right to worry. You’ve been making friends without me.”

“One of Koutaro’s new friends sent a welcome party,” she grumbled, finally pushing against his chest to create a sliver of space. “He’s currently taking a nap in the ladies' room. He seemed to think eliminating your date was a strategic move.”

Nagumo’s amused expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “Jealousy is such an ugly color,” he sighed, as if disappointed by the poor sportsmanship. Then he peeked out of the alcove. The coast was clear. “Come on. We can’t stay here. And we’re behind schedule.”

He offered his hand again, not as a gentleman this time, but as a partner pulling her back into the fray. With a final, frustrated sigh, Shin took it, allowing him to tug her out of the hiding spot. 

"Where are we going?" Shin asked, automatically slipping her hand into the crook of Nagumo's arm as they merged back into the crowd. The gesture was seamless, a practiced part of the act, but it made Nagumo's smile soften into something genuine.

"We're going to the main ballroom," he murmured, leaning close as if sharing a sweet nothing. "Our host and his special guests have just made their grand entrance. I need your power to find our new friends. Then," he added, his tone as light as if discussing the next dance, "I need you to get close and knock him out."

Shin nodded, her own expression shifting into one of attentive charm as they navigated the sea of people. "And what are you going to do with Koutaro?" she asked, the question casual beneath the hum of music and chatter.

Nagumo guided her around a laughing couple, his own laugh a soft, pleasant sound in response to some unheard joke. He turned his smile toward her, eyes crinkling.

"Kill him, of course," he replied, his voice a warm, natural whisper, as if he'd just confirmed he was fetching her another drink.

~~

In the grand ballroom, couples moved, dancing across the gleaming floor in elegant patterns. 

And there, near the edge, was the familiar cluster of women from earlier. Their eyes, sharp as daggers, found Shin and Nagumo the moment they entered.

Shin felt the weight of their gaze immediately. It wasn't just recognition. It was an expectation that seemed to shout across the room: ‘Well? He’s here. The music is playing. Prove it.’ They wanted to see Nagumo sweep his warm, ordinary girlfriend into a dance.

She tried to ignore it, focusing on scanning the crowd for Koutaro's mysterious allies, but the women's staring was a physical pressure.

Nagumo, of course, didn't miss a thing. He leaned down, his breath tickling her ear. "My, my, Kiyoko-chan. You sure know how to make an impression. You've acquired a fan club with very high expectations."

Shin’s face, which had been carefully composed, flushed a deep, furious crimson. It was one thing to be stared at by hitmen. It was another to be silently pressured into a romantic dance by a jury of them.

"Shut up," she muttered under her breath, her smile strained. "This is your fault. All of it."

"But they're waiting," he sang softly, his eyes glittering with mischief. "It would be rude to disappoint our audience, don't you think? And a dancing couple can move anywhere on the floor. Very useful for getting a better look."

He was teasing her, but he also had a point. It was the perfect cover. That didn't make the idea any less mortifying.

The flush on Shin’s cheeks deepened from crimson to a truly impressive shade of scarlet. "That's the one thing I don't know how to do," she hissed through her fixed smile, her grip tightening on his arm. "I don't know how to dance."

Nagumo looked genuinely delighted by this new information, as if she'd just confessed a charming and rare phobia of puppies. "Really? Not even a little?"

"Not even a step!" she whispered furiously, watching the women's expectant stares intensify. "This isn't a skill you pick up while working at a convenience store!"

"Well," Nagumo said, his tone shifting from teasing to something dangerously close to enthusiastic. "There's a first time for everything, Kiyoko-chan." Before she could protest further, his hand slid from her arm to the small of her back, his other hand capturing hers. "Just follow my lead. It's like a very polite, rhythmic fight. I'll step, you step back. I move left, you move right."

And then, he was guiding her forward, onto the polished expanse of the dance floor. The world seemed to tilt. The music, which had been background noise, suddenly became a terrifyingly structured map she didn't know how to read. 

"Nagumo, I swear—"

"Hush," he murmured, his voice calm and steady as he initiated the first simple box step. "Left foot back. There you go. See? You're a natural."

Shin stumbled, her heel catching on the hem of her own dress. She wasn't a natural. But his grip was firm and unshakeable, his movements so confident that her own awkwardness was mostly absorbed and corrected by his guidance. To the watching crowd, it probably looked like she was leaning into him with shy, adorable clumsiness. In reality, she was clinging to him for dear life, mentally plotting a dozen different ways to make him pay for this.

His large, warm hand settled against the bare skin of her lower back, a steady anchor that both grounded and unnerved her. His other hand held hers with a gentle but unyielding firmness, guiding it with an expert’s confidence. Her free hand came to rest on his shoulder, completing the picture of a dancing couple.

And then, they were moving. Somehow, despite her earlier protests, her feet began to follow his lead. The stumbling turned into a hesitant, then a fluid, rhythm. They moved in a slow, graceful sync. 

Nagumo looked down at her, his expression unnaturally calm. The usual playful glint was there, but softened, muted by a focus that seemed entirely on the dance and the crowd they were surveying. This version of him was somehow more disconcerting than the chaotic one.

Watching that calm face, Shin’s mind circled back to the women’s words in the booth. Akao Rion. 

Was he doing this for the mission? Or was he doing it to mess with her, to see how flustered he could make her? Or both? 

Why am I even thinking about this!? The sudden question cut through her own thoughts with the force of a slap. It wasn't like she had fallen for Nagumo or something. The very idea was ridiculous. 

She focused on the feel of her hand in his, the solid muscle of his shoulder under her palm. It was just a dance. Nothing more. The heat in her cheeks was from exertion and annoyance. The tightness in her chest was pure, professional frustration.

Absolutely nothing more.

And it's not like she could just ask him, Hey, by the way, do I remind you of your dead girlfriend? 

Yeah, no. She was definitely sure she’d throw herself over the ship’s railing long before he had the chance to kill her for asking something like that. The sheer, cringe-worthy horror of it was a fate worse than any assassination attempt.

For crying out loud, she seethed internally, her smile fixed in place as they turned in a slow circle. If only she could read his mind like a normal person reads a book—clearly, page by page, without all the fuzzy impressions and guarded barriers he could throw up whenever he chose. But no. Trying to get a straight answer from his thoughts was as hopeless as getting a straight answer from his mouth.

So she was stuck. Forced to wonder if the gentle pressure of his hand on her back was a calculation, a cruel joke, or a memory meant for someone else.

The mission. She had to focus on the mission. She forced her eyes away from his face and began scanning the crowd over his shoulder, looking for the telltale signs of Koutaro’s “new friends.” Anything was better than the ridiculous spiral of her own thoughts.

"What are you thinking about, Kiyoko-chan?"

His voice, soft and close, pulled her out of her internal spiral.

"Huh?" She blinked, her focus snapping back to his face. Up close, his calm expression held a trace of genuine curiosity.

"You look like you're curious about something," he repeated, his head tilting slightly as they continued to move. "Your thinking face is very serious. It's cute, but it doesn't match the music."

Caught. She scrambled for a cover, anything other than the truth. "I was just... wondering how many exits this room has," she lied smoothly, nodding subtly toward a draped archway. "And how many of these lovely dancers are armed."

It was a decent save. But Nagumo’s eyes crinkled, as if he could see right through it. He didn't press, though. Instead, he guided her into a slightly wider turn, giving her a better view of the room's periphery.

"A practical question," he acknowledged. "Four main exits, not counting service doors. And as for arms... let's just say the jewelry tonight is very, very functional." He spun her out gently, then drew her back in, the motion fluid and bringing her even closer for a moment. "But that wasn't it, was it?"

He was fishing. And he was enjoying it. Shin kept her expression neutral, her mind a locked vault. Let him wonder. Some questions were better left unasked, and some thoughts were better left screaming silently inside her own head.

The words left her lips before she could cage them, pushed out by the whirl of music and the pressure of his hand. 

"Why did you choose me for this mission?"

Nagumo didn't miss a beat. The calm smile remained, his steps never faltering. 

"Maybe it's because you're interesting," he said, his tone light and conversational. "Your reactions are fun to watch every time. And you're the only one who'd accept this mission. The guys in the Order won't go on a mission with me because they said they won't get dressed up." He chuckled softly, as if the image of his burly colleagues refusing a fancy suit was the height of comedy.

It was a perfectly Nagumo answer. Flattering, dismissive, and utterly ridiculous, all at once. It explained nothing and everything.

But Shin wasn't listening to the words. Her eyes were locked on his face, searching the surface of his expression for a crack, a flicker, anything that felt real. 

Shin let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It came out shaky, lost in the swell of the music.

“…Shin-chan?” Nagumo whispered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, a note of real question in it.

His words were cut off.

In a sudden, impulsive movement, Shin unwound her hand from his and her arm from his shoulder. Instead, she wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him down toward her in a tight, almost desperate hug right there in the middle of the dance floor.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of confusion. She didn’t know why she was doing this. It broke every rule of the mission, of their dynamic, of common sense.

But in the space between his easy lie and his calm smile, a realization had crashed over her with the force of a wave.

He’s been lonely.

If Akao and Sakamoto were the only people he’d ever truly had—his found family—then what was left when they were gone? Akao was lost. Sakamoto had retired, building a new, quiet life with his own precious people. 

Sakamoto treasured Nagumo, Shin knew that, but it wasn't the same as the daily, shoulder-to-shoulder existence they’d once shared.

Nagumo didn’t have a family to go home to. No quiet life waiting. He only had the chaos of the Order, a place where people refused missions with him because they wouldn't wear a suit.

Shin knew the hollow, aching shape of being left behind by the people you treasure. He’d been alone. Truly alone, until Sakamoto’s bounty had drawn him back into some semblance of connection.

So she hugged him. Tightly. Ignoring the stares, the mission. For a moment, she wasn’t Kiyoko, and he wasn’t the enigmatic agent. They were just two people in a room full of predators, and one of them, she was certain, had been lonely for a very, very long time.

For a moment, Nagumo went completely still in her arms. The easy guidance of the dance stopped. The ever-present hum of his cheerful energy seemed to flicker and go silent. It was as if her sudden embrace had short-circuited him.

Then, slowly, his own arms came up to encircle her. One hand settled carefully between her shoulder blades, the other pressing gently against the small of her back. 

He didn't speak. He just rested his chin lightly on the top of her shoulder, his breath stirring her hair.

Shin could feel the solid, steady beat of his heart against hers, a counter-rhythm to her own frantic pounding. The scent of his cologne, clean and faintly spicy, mixed with the distant smell of champagne and perfume. 

It was Nagumo who moved first, ever so slightly. He didn't pull away, but he loosened his hold just enough to lean back and look down at her. His usual smile was gone. In its place was an expression she’d never seen before: open, unguarded, and utterly bewildered. His eyes searched her face, looking for an answer she hadn't put into words.

“Shin-chan,” he breathed, his voice husky and stripped of all its playful pretense. It was just her name. A question and an acknowledgment all at once.

Shin, her own courage evaporating as quickly as it had come, felt her face burn. She hastily unwound her arms from his neck, looking away. “S-sorry,” she mumbled, her voice thick. “I don’t… I don’t know why I did that.”

But she did know. And the raw, vulnerable look on his face told her that, for once, he might know, too.

"You don't have to be sorry," he said, his voice still low, meant only for her. He gave her shoulders a gentle, almost reassuring squeeze before letting his hands drop. "That was a very effective cover. Everyone is certainly convinced we're a couple now."

He was giving her an out. A way to frame her impulsive, emotional act as just another part of the mission. It was a kindness, and it was so unlike him it made her chest ache all over again.

But he was also watching her, that new, quiet curiosity still in his eyes, waiting to see if she would take it.

Shin swallowed, gathering the remains of her composure. She couldn't meet his gaze. Instead, she looked over his shoulder, toward the far end of the ballroom, where a raised dais held a group of serious-looking men. 

"I found your new friends."

The moment of startling vulnerability was over, sealed away by necessity. But the air between them had changed. The dance felt different. His hand, when it returned to the small of her back to guide her off the floor, felt different.

"Good work, partner," Nagumo murmured, his usual lilt returning, but softened at the edges. "Now, let's go crash their party.”

They navigated the edge of the crowd, Shin kept her eyes on the man in the grey pinstripe, feeding Nagumo whispered updates on his movements and the nervous, greedy swirl of his thoughts. Nagumo, in turn, scanned for bodyguards, exit routes, and the best moment to strike.

“He’s getting anxious,” Shin murmured, her lips barely moving. “He keeps checking his watch. The deal is going down soon, somewhere more private.”

The man in the grey pinstripe checked his watch again, a bead of sweat tracing a line down his temple. Shin, her focus laser-sharp, dipped into the stream of his thoughts.

And froze.

Her fingers shot out, clamping around Nagumo's wrist with bruising force. She pulled him to a sudden halt behind a decorative marble column. 

"He's planning to blow up everyone here!" she hissed, the words a shocked, urgent whisper. "The deal isn't happening here. It's an exchange of items. Koutaro is on his way to retrieve them right now from room 039. But he," she jerked her chin toward pinstripe, "is planning to betray Koutaro. He's rigged the ship. Once Koutaro has the items, he's going to trigger it and kill everyone."

Nagumo’s pleasant mask vanished. His eyes hardened into chips of ice. He didn't question her.

"Room 039," he repeated, his voice low and flat. "You stop the bomb. Use whatever you need."

"And you?" Shin asked, already scanning the room for access panels, for wires, for anything out of place.

A dark, chilling smile touched Nagumo's lips, one that held no trace of humor. It was a promise of vengeance. "I," he said softly, "am going to have a very serious talk with our friend and Koutaro."

He gave her wrist a quick, firm squeeze—a transfer of trust, a silent go—then melted into the crowd, his target now clearly in sight.

Shin didn't watch him go. She turned, the shimmering dress swirling around her, and slipped toward a service door. 

Shin burst through the service exit, the heavy door slamming against the wall. The hallway stretched before her, but her path was immediately blocked. The three men from earlier—the ones who’d chased her—were there, likely as extra security for the pinstripe man’s deadly plan.

“Get her!” one snarled.

Shin didn’t turn and run the other way, instead she charged right at them. The sheer, unexpected audacity of it made them hesitate for a crucial half-second.

It was all she needed.

Their vision was consumed by the blur of her hands. 

Thwack! Thwack!

Two men crumpled to the floor like sacks of grain, out cold before they hit the ground. The third, stumbling back in shock, found his collar seized in a vice-like grip. Shin hauled him up.

“Where’s the bomb!?” she demanded.

But she didn’t wait for his answer. As her fingers made contact with his skin, his panicked, unguarded mind spilled its secrets. The location flashed in her head like a neon sign: The starboard lifeboat control panel. Disguised as a maintenance unit.

She released his collar, letting him slump to the floor in a daze, and was already sprinting down the hallway before his body had fully settled. 

Shin ran. The fancy dress, so pretty and delicate, whipped around her legs. She had kicked off her heels miles back. Now, her bare feet hit the carpet—thump, thump, thump. 

She rounded a sharp corner and skidded to a stop.

There it was. A heavy, sealed door marked with a lifeboat symbol. And in front of it, a guard. A big man in a dark suit. He stood very still, his eyes sharp, watching the empty hall. 

For less than a second, Shin brushed against his thoughts. It was like tapping a glass. The picture was clear: He was ready to fight anyone who tried to get through this door.

Shin pushed off the wall and charged straight at him. 

The guard’s eyes went wide. He fumbled for the gun under his jacket. Too slow! 

Shin jumped. She flew through the air, her dress sparkling. Her knee shot up and smashed into his face.

CRUNCH

The man’s head snapped back. A choked gasp escaped his lips. He didn't cry out. He just folded. His legs gave way and he crumpled against the metal door, then slid down to the floor in a boneless heap. A dark red flood poured from his ruined nose, spreading fast on the light carpet.

Shin landed softly beside him. She didn't even look at his face. Her heart hammered, but her hands were steady. She patted his jacket, found the hard rectangle of a keycard, and pulled it free. She swiped it through the door's lock.

A green light. A soft click.

The heavy door hissed open.

Inside was a small, crowded room full of panels, screens, and wires for the lifeboats. And there, sitting on a workbench like a regular toolbox, was a simple black case. On top of it, a digital screen glowed with bright red numbers, counting down.

02:15... 02:14... 02:13...

Shit.

The word exploded in Shin's mind, sharp and hot. The red numbers burned into her vision. 

01:58... 01:57...

No time to panic. She dropped to her knees in front of the black case, her fingers flying over the latches. They snapped open. Inside, a nest of colored wires sat coiled around a block of putty-like explosives. 

Red, blue, white, and black. They were all connected to the timer in a messy, terrifying knot.

Her eyes scanned the casing, the floor around it. Her mind, screaming for a simple solution: throw it overboard. Just get it off the ship.

But as her gaze darted, she saw it. Thick bolts, four of them, securing the bomb casing directly to the ship's metal frame beneath the workbench. It was bolted down, hard and permanent. Someone had made sure it couldn't be moved.

Her stomach dropped. 

So she couldn't move it. She couldn't dump it. She had to disable it. 

Her eyes snapped back to the writhing snake-pit of wires. Red, blue, white, black. One of them was the key. One of them would stop the clock.

01:15... 01:14...

Shin was a telepath, not a bomb expert! 

Her fingers, slick with a cold sweat, fumbled for the small, hidden phone she’d tucked into a seam of the dress. The world had narrowed to the blinking red numbers and the web of colored death in front of her.

01:10... 01:09...

She stabbed at the screen, hitting the only speed-dial number programmed into it. 

It rang once, twice—an eternity measured in heartbeat. On the third ring, a connection, but there was no greeting. Only the sharp, wet sound of impact, a grunt of effort, and the distant clatter of something—or someone—hitting the floor.

“Nagumo!” she yelled into the phone, her voice tight.

There was a beat of silence, then his voice came through, calm but breathless. “Shin-chan? I'm a little busy right now but that doesn't matter more than you, what's wrong?”

"The bomb's bolted down! I can't move it!" Shin hissed into the phone, her eyes glued to the blinking timer. 

01:02... 

"Do something to make our new friend spill how to stop it!"

"Understood!" Nagumo's voice came back, oddly cheerful. A second later, there was a distinct, sickening crunch from the other end of the line, followed by a high-pitched wail that was quickly cut off. Nagumo must have broken something. A finger, maybe. Or an arm.

A few seconds of muffled, urgent sounds passed before his voice returned, clear and bright. "Shin-chan~! Cut the black and the white wires, please. Also—"

His words cut off abruptly. Shin heard a sharp intake of breath, the sound of fabric rustling fast.

"What's wrong?" Shin asked, already grabbing a pair of heavy-duty wire cutters from the operation table. Without hesitation, she snipped the black wire. It sparked once and went dead.

"More mobs are heading your way," Nagumo said, his voice losing its singsong tone, turning flat and urgent. "Be careful. Where are you? I'll get there as fast as I can."

Shin's eyes narrowed. More enemies. Of course. She had expected their target to have more than 30 men. Shin finished cutting the white wire. 

The timer stuttered, the numbers freezing at 00:47, the red glow finally faded. 

"I'm at the starboard lifeboat station," she said, her voice low. She was already moving, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon. The guard's gun was in her hand a second later. 

"I'm on my way. Don't die, Shin-chan," Nagumo said, and the line went dead, leaving her silent.

“...”

Something about the way Nagumo said it—Don't die, Shin-chan—landed wrong. It wasn't the concern that prickled at her. It was the hint that she might need him to get there, that she couldn't handle what was coming on her own.

It ticked her off. 

Who does he think he's talking to?! The thought screamed in her head. She wasn't some damsel waiting for rescue. 

The sound of boots—several pairs—pounded closer in the hallway, just outside the sealed door.

Shin’s jaw tightened. She checked the gun’s magazine—full—and racked the slide with a satisfying click-clack. A fierce, defiant smile touched her lips, one that Nagumo couldn't see but would have undoubtedly admired.

"Don't worry about me," she muttered to the empty air, her eyes fixed on the door. "You just try to keep up."

She took a firing stance, and not a second after that, the access door slammed open. A man burst in, his gun already up and firing. 

Shin dropped, the bullet whining over her head. From the floor, she didn't hesitate—her own gun shot once. A spray of blood erupted from his hand and he screamed, his weapon clattering to the ground.

More men poured in behind him, but they skidded to a halt, confusion freezing them in place.

Their comrade was writhing on the floor. And standing over him, one foot planted firmly on his chest, was a woman. 

Shin dipped into the whirl of their shocked thoughts. 

‘A girl!?’ 

‘Did she do this?’ 

‘She can’t have...’

“Who the hell are you!?” the one in front finally snarled, finding his voice. His gun trembled slightly as he aimed it at her heart. “Are you one of the Order!?”

Before she could answer, another one piped up, his voice full of sudden, awful understanding. “I think she’s Nagumo’s girlfriend.”

“What!?” Shin’s eyebrow shot up, her composure cracking for a split second.

“That’s to be expected,” the first man muttered, as if it explained everything. “That insane bastard wouldn’t take a normal girl as his girlfriend.”

What part of me isn’t normal?! The silent scream echoed in her skull. 

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Shin’s face. She dropped her gun onto the chest of the man beneath her foot, then raised her hands, cracking her knuckles one by one. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice sweet and challenging. “Let’s make this fair. Hand-to-hand. You wouldn’t use weapons on a girl, would you?”

"Sure~" one of them sneered, a cocky grin spreading across his face. He tossed his gun to the side with a clatter and raised his fists, taking a sloppy, overconfident fighting stance. The others chuckled, relaxing. This would be easy.

They were wrong.

The man lunged. Shin didn't move until the last second. Then she swayed to the side like a reed in the wind. Her hand shot out—not a fist, but a knife-edged chop to the side of his neck.

Thwack.

He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, his eyes rolling back.

The chuckles died. The second man came at her with a roar, swinging a wild haymaker. Shin ducked under it, coming up inside his guard. Her elbow slammed into his solar plexus. The air left his lungs in a pained whoosh. A swift, precise strike to the temple finished the job.

Thwack.

He joined his friend on the floor.

The remaining two attacked together, finally understanding their mistake. It didn't matter. Shin was a whirlwind. She used their momentum against them, tripping one into the other. A spinning kick caught the first in the jaw. A follow-up punch, driven from the hip, connected with the second's nose with another sickening crunch.

Thwack. Thwack.

Silence.

In less than a minute, all four men were sprawled on the floor of the cramped room, unconscious or groaning in pain. Shin stood in the center of them. She brushed a strand of hair from her face.

—! 

Shin’s head snapped toward the doorway. 

Standing there, framed in the exit, was Koutaro Ai. He looked a little worse for wear—his suit jacket was torn at the shoulder, and a thin trickle of blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow. But he was standing. He was here. And his eyes were fixed directly on her.

“You…!” The word was a hissed breath of pure disbelief.

Her mind raced, tripping over a single question: What happened to Nagumo?

Nagumo had said he was going to take care of him. Shin had never thought Koutaro was weak—a former Order member was never weak—but she also never, not for a second, believed Nagumo would go down so easily that Koutaro could just walk away and find her.

A chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning crept down her spine. Had he underestimated Koutaro? Had something gone wrong?

Koutaro took a slow step into the room, his polished shoes avoiding the unconscious bodies. His gaze flicked from her, to the bomb with its cut wires, and back to her face. A slow, unpleasant smile spread across his lips.

“I must admit,” he said, his voice smooth as oil. “When Nagumo said he brought a date, I didn’t expect her to be quite so… destructive. Or so talented.” He tilted his head. “Tell me, girl. Where is my item?”

"...Where's Nagumo." Shin's voice was flat, dead. She ignored his question completely.

Koutaro's smile didn't waver. "Nagumo is dead."

Silence. A heavy, absolute silence filled the small room, broken only by the faint hum of the ship.

Then—CLANK!

A flash of silver. Shin had moved like a released spring, a knife she'd palmed from the table slicing through the air toward Koutaro's throat. He was fast with his own blade appearing from his sleeve to intercept hers with a sharp shriek of metal. The two knives locked, trembling between them, their faces inches apart.

"...Well," Koutaro breathed, his smirk turning a little uneasy as he stared into her eyes. "You're looking so scary right now, young lady." His gaze searched her face, finding something that made his eyebrows rise. "Have you fallen for Nagumo?"

Shin didn't know what expression she was making. She couldn't feel her own face. All she could feel was a cold, roaring void where the news had landed, and a single, burning purpose rising from it. She wanted to cut this man's throat. She wanted to find where Nagumo's body was. Nothing else existed.

"Shut up," she gritted out, the words raw and low. She shoved forward, breaking the blade-lock and forcing him back a step. And Shin didn't waste a second to get back. 

He stumbled over the leg of an unconscious guard. It was only a second of imbalance, but it was enough. Shin hooked his ankle and drove her shoulder into his chest. He crashed onto his back with a heavy thud, the wind knocked from his lungs.

In an instant, she was on him, straddling his waist, pinning him down. Her knife was already in her hand, plunging straight down toward his throat. There was no hesitation, just the final strike.

But Koutaro’s hand shot up, not to block the blade, but to clamp around her wrist. His fingers, thick and strong, closed like a steel manacle, stopping the knife’s descent just inches from his skin. He didn't just grab her; his hand wrapped around hers completely, his knuckles white with the strain of holding her back.

They froze there, locked in a terrifying tableau. Shin on top, her arm trembling with the effort to push down. The knife’s point hovered over his adam's apple.

He stared up at her, his eyes wide with a new kind of shock—not at her skill, but at the sheer, murderous will he saw blazing in her eyes. 

"Such... hatred..." he grunted out through clenched teeth, his grip beginning to slip a fraction. "For a man like him...?”

His words were a gasp, strained and bewildered. But as Shin glared down, fighting to drive the knife home, something shifted.

The face beneath her hands… changed. It wasn't a slow morph, but a sudden, impossible flicker—like a glitch in reality. The lines of strain on Koutaro’s forehead smoothed. The cold calculation in his eyes melted into a familiar, crinkled warmth. The shape of the jaw, the set of the mouth—it all softened and rearranged itself in a blink.

It was Nagumo.

Shin froze. All the previous tension left her body. Her fingers went slack.

The knife clattered from her hand, but it never hit the floor. Nagumo’s other hand—the one not locked around her wrist—snapped out and caught it by the handle with easy grace.

He slowly sat up, and because she was still straddling his waist, she was pulled upright with him. His hand slid from her wrist to the small of her back, supporting her as she swayed, her mind utterly blank.

"Surprise!" Nagumo chirped, his face breaking into a wide, sunny smile, as if he’d just pulled a coin from behind her ear.

"..."

"Sorry~" he laughed, a little sheepish, his hand still a steadying presence on her back. "I was curious about what you'd do if I disguised myself as Koutaro. He's already dead, by the way. Took care of it before I came to find you."

"..."

"Shin-chan?" Nagumo tilted his head, leaning in to peer at her frozen face. His smile faltered, replaced by gentle concern. "Are you..."

THWACK!

Her hand chopped down onto the top of his head with enough force to make a hollow bonk sound. Nagumo let out a comical, high-pitched shriek, more surprised than hurt.

But Shin wasn't done. 

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

"Yow! Ouch! Hey! Shin-chan—!"

Nagumo didn't block her. He just sat there and let her pummel him, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, more understanding. Finally, when her blows began to lose their force, turning shaky, he reached up and gently caught both of her wrists, holding them still against his chest.

"Shh, shh," he murmured, his voice a low hum. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

He waited until her trembling subsided. Then he leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching hers, his eyes searching her face with an intensity that was both curious and terribly soft.

"Are you crying, Shin-chan?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not!" she snapped, but her voice was thick and wobbly. Despite her words, her vision was a hot, blurry mess, and a single tear escaped to track a wet line down her cheek, confirming everything he wanted to know.

Damn him, she seethed internally, a fresh wave of relief and anger crashing over her. I’m going to kill him for real after this!

Her gaze, which had been stubbornly fixed on his collarbone ever since the disguise dropped, finally lifted to meet his eyes.

He was looking at her with an expression she’d never seen before. There was no teasing smile, no playful glint. His face was serious, his eyes wide with something like awe, and a deep unsettling tenderness.

“Shin-chan,” he said softly, his voice his own again, gentle and a little breathless. “You were really going to kill him for me?”

"Of course I would!" Shin exploded, her voice cracking with the force of her frustration. She felt a vein throbbing in her temple. "I thought he killed you! What's wrong with it!? Anyone would kill for the person they care about!"

The words hung in the air, loud and raw in the quiet aftermath. She hadn't meant to say that last part. It had just tumbled out, fueled by adrenaline and the terrifying, vivid memory of believing he was gone.

Nagumo fell silent. He didn't look away. The awe in his eyes didn't fade; it deepened, mixed with a dawning, profound realization. His gentle grip on her wrists tightened just a fraction, not to restrain, but to anchor.

For a long moment, he just looked at her, as if seeing her for the very first time.

"... I'm sorry for scaring you, Shin-chan."

Nagumo's voice was gentle, uncharacteristically quiet, stripped of all its usual playful energy. He slowly guided her captured hands away from his chest, not letting go, but turning her palms. With a tenderness that felt surreal, he placed them against his own face, letting her hands cup his cheeks. Then, his own hands came up to cover hers, his thumbs gently stroking over the bruised and scraped knuckles she'd earned from fighting.

Shin was utterly speechless. She didn't know how to react. This wasn't the Nagumo she knew.

Her heart was beating an unfamiliar rhythm against her ribs. A fluttering tempo that left her breathless and completely at a loss, trapped in the quiet intensity of his gaze and the shocking warmth of his hands over hers.

He held her gaze, his eyes tracing over her face—the tear track, the furious blush, the bewildered confusion. The silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. 

"You know," he began, his voice still that soft, unfamiliar rasp, "when I saw you like that... ready to end a man because you thought he'd ended me... I think my own heart stopped."

He gave a small, shaky laugh, as if admitting it was absurd. "I've had people fight alongside me. I've had people rely on me. But no one... no one has ever looked at someone else with pure murder in their eyes for my sake."

His thumbs stilled their motion, pressing her palms more firmly against his cheeks, as if making sure she could feel the truth of his words in the warmth of his skin. "It was the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. And the most... amazing."

Shin could only stare, her mind trying to catch up. The wild flutter in her chest was turning into a heavy, warm thrum. She was acutely aware of every point of contact: her palms on his face, his hands over hers, her knees on either side of his hips. 

Nagumo's expression softened even further, the awe melting into something unbearably fond. "My fierce, wonderful Shin-chan. What am I going to do with you?"

He wasn't asking for an answer. It was a sigh, a surrender. And before she could even think to form a reply, he was leaning in, closing the small distance between them, his eyes slipping shut as his lips met hers.

‘Die!’

Then her world tilted. In a blur of motion too fast to follow, Nagumo moved. He twisted their bodies, rolling so that he was above her, his back to the door, shielding her completely.

BANG!

The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.

Their parted lips were stained with the coppery taste of shock. The devotion in Nagumo’s eyes, which had been boring into hers, flickered. His lips, still so close to hers, widened into a small, pained, yet strangely peaceful smile.

Then, his weight collapsed fully onto her.

Shin lay trapped beneath him, her mind white with static. She stared over his shoulder. There, in the doorway, was the man she’d shot in the hand earlier. He was holding his gun with his uninjured hand, smoke curling from the barrel, his face a mask of twisted triumph.

Her gaze slowly dropped to Nagumo’s back. The pristine black suit was now marred by a rapidly spreading, dark red stain.

He had shielded her. 

The man in the doorway was still smiling, lowering his gun, thinking he'd won.

He didn't see Shin's hand move. The knife Nagumo had caught earlier was still on the floor by her hip. Her fingers closed around the hilt. In one fluid motion, she whipped her arm out from under Nagumo’s weight and threw.

The blade spun through the air and buried itself to the hilt in the shooter’s throat with a sickening thunk. His triumph turned to a wet gurgle as he stumbled back, clawing at the metal in his neck, and fell.

She was already moving, adrenaline burning through her veins like ice-fire. With a strength born of pure desperation, she shoved Nagumo’s dead weight off her and scrambled to her knees.

"Nagumo. Nagumo, get up."

He was limp, his face pale. The warm, devoted light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a frightening emptiness. But he was breathing—shallow, ragged breaths.

"No. No, you don't get to do this." Her voice was a hard, shaky command. She hooked her arms under his shoulders, ignoring the searing wetness soaking into her dress and skin. She dragged him upright, slinging one of his arms over her shoulders. 

"Walk. You have to help me, you bastard," she grunted, half-dragging, half-carrying him out of the lifeboat room, stepping over the bodies of the unconscious and the dead.

Somehow, she remembered the way. Through the service corridors, away from the party noise, her focus narrowed to the pounding of her heart, his ragged breathing, and the door to the luxury suite Nagumo had booked for their "date." She fumbled the keycard from his pocket, swiped it, and shouldered the door open.

Stumbling inside, she let him slide from her shoulders onto the plush carpet of the suite's living room. She fell to her knees beside him, her hands already ripping at the blood-soaked fabric of his suit jacket, her mind screaming for a plan, for a way to fix the unfixable hole in the man who had just saved her life.

"Shin-chan, I'm still alive." Nagumo blurted out, his voice a weak, desperate rasp, his face slightly pale but his eyes stubbornly open, fixed on her.

"Well that's good because I would've killed you myself if you died," Shin shot back, her voice tight. It was a lie, a terrible, transparent lie, but she'd say anything to keep that flicker of awareness in his eyes. She couldn't let him slip away.

Her hands, slick with his blood, worked frantically. She ripped the remains of his suit jacket and dress shirt open, buttons flying, and tore the fabric away, leaving him shirtless. 

The wound was revealed: a dark hole just above his left hip.

"See?" Nagumo managed, trying for a smile that was more of a grimace. "My body does look good, right?”

"Shut up and hold still," Shin ordered, her mind racing. She needed to stop the bleeding. Now. Her eyes darted around the lavish suite.

"First aid kit," Nagumo whispered, nodding weakly toward the elegant desk. "Bottom drawer."

She scrambled to the desk, yanked the drawer open, and found a robust, professional-grade medical kit. She hauled it back, spilling contents onto the carpet beside him. 

Pressing a thick wad of sterile gauze hard against the wound, she applied direct pressure, using her own weight to lean into it. Nagumo hissed through his teeth, his body tensing.

"Stay with me," she commanded, her voice low and fierce, her eyes locked on his. "You don't get to leave after pulling a stunt like that. You hear me? You still owe me a favor.”

"Yes ma'am," Nagumo chuckled slightly, the sound ending in a sharp intake of breath as she increased the pressure. His hand, trembling slightly, came up to cover hers where she pressed against the gauze. His fingers were cold. "Your bedside manner... is terrible."

"Complain later," she muttered, but she didn't shake off his hand. His touch, weak as it was, felt like an anchor. The bleeding was slowing under the firm pressure, but it wasn't stopped. She needed to see the damage.

"Keep pressure here," she instructed, guiding his hand to replace hers on the gauze pad. His fingers fumbled but held. She quickly tore open a packet of antiseptic wipes with her teeth. "This is going to hurt."

"It already does," he breathed, watching her face as she leaned over him.

Gently, she peeled back the blood-soaked gauze. The wound was clean, a neat entry. No exit wound. The bullet was still inside. 

Shin’s eyes scanned the medical kit again, landing on a pair of slender, sharp tweezers. They'd have to do.

She took a deep, steadying breath, centering herself. Then, she pulled a clean handkerchief from the kit and handed it to Nagumo.

"Here," she said, her voice brooking no argument. "Don't bite your tongue."

"I'm not a child," Nagumo smirked, but he obediently took the cloth and folded it between his teeth, biting down. His eyes, though, stayed on hers, trusting and alert.

"I need you to be very still," she instructed, her tone turning clinical. She cleaned the tweezers with antiseptic, then poured some over the wound again, making him jerk. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he mumbled around the handkerchief, his jaw tight.

With a surgeon's focus, Shin leaned over him. Using her fingers, she gently probed around the edges of the wound, feeling for the foreign object. Nagumo tensed, a low groan vibrating in his chest, but he didn't move. His hand fisted in the plush carpet.

"There," she whispered, her fingertips brushing against something hard and smooth, lodged deep in the muscle. She picked up the tweezers, her hand perfectly steady.

He gave a single, sharp nod, his eyes squeezing shut.

Taking a firm grip, she guided the tips of the tweezers into the wound. Nagumo's whole body went rigid, a muffled sound of pure agony escaping around the cloth. Shin blocked it out. Her world narrowed to the feel of metal against metal. She opened the tweezers, felt them scrape against the bullet, closed them carefully, and with a slow, steady pull, began to draw it out.

It was a brutal, intimate process. Sweat beaded on Nagumo's forehead and on her own. Finally, with a sickening pop, the mangled piece of lead came free, clutched in the bloody tips of the tweezers. She dropped it into a metal bowl from the kit with a dull clink.

Nagumo sagged against the floor, the handkerchief falling from his slack mouth as he panted, drenched in sweat and pale as a ghost.

"It's out," Shin said, her own breath shuddering. She immediately pressed fresh, thick gauze over the wound, applying pressure once more. "Just breathe. The worst is over."

He couldn't speak. He just looked up at her, his eyes glassy with pain and exhaustion, but filled with a profound, wordless gratitude. He’d trusted her with his life in the most literal way possible, and she hadn't let him down.

She cleaned the area as best she could, the sharp smell of antiseptic cutting through the metallic scent of blood.

"You're lucky," she said, her voice steadier now as she worked. "It looks like it went through muscle and fat. Missed your spine and your organs. Probably."

"Probably," he echoed, a weak smile tugging at his lips. "My luck... is holding."

She packed the wound with fresh gauze and began wrapping his midsection tightly with a long bandage, her movements efficient. As she worked, leaning over him, her hair fell around her face, creating a small, private tent. In that shadowy space, his eyes never left hers.

She just looked at him, this ridiculous, dangerous, infuriating man who was currently shirtless and bleeding on a carpet because he’d put himself between her and a bullet.

"Just don't do it again," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Nagumo’s smile was tired, but real. "No promises, Shin-chan." His eyes drifted closed for a moment before forcing themselves open again. "But I'll try... for you.”

~~

Sunlight, soft and golden, streamed through the porthole of the luxury suite, painting stripes across the bed. Shin awoke slowly, her mind foggy with deep, exhausted sleep. She blinked, staring at the ceiling.

The last thing she clearly remembered was the cold feel of the carpet under her knees, the metallic smell of blood, and Nagumo’s pale, pained face as she’d finally gotten the bleeding to stop. Everything after that was a blur of adrenaline crash and utter fatigue.

She tried to sit up, to get her bearings, but a weight around her middle held her firmly in place.

Shin froze.

She looked down.

A shock of messy, pitch-black hair was pillowed against her chest. An arm was thrown possessively across her waist, a hand splayed against her ribs. And there, snuggled into her side with his face buried against the fabric of her pajama dress, was Nagumo, and he's fast asleep. His expression was peaceful, the lines of pain and playful mischief smoothed away by slumber. He was even faintly snoring.

For a long moment, Shin just stared, her brain refusing to process the scene. The man who had been shot less than twelve hours ago, was clinging to her in his sleep like a giant, wounded octopus. Her face heated rapidly. She was trapped, in more ways than one.

Shin lay perfectly still, her heart doing a complicated, fluttering dance against her ribs. She could feel the steady, slow rise and fall of his breathing against her chest. The arm around her waist was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was... secure.

Carefully, she tilted her head to look at him more closely. In sleep, he looked younger. Something about the way the older man looked so vulnerable right now made something tight and unfamiliar clench in her chest.

She should shove him off. She should yell. She should remind him of personal space and the fact that they were technically colleagues on a mission. 

But she didn't.

Maybe it was the residual exhaustion. Whatever the reason, Shin found herself not moving. She just watched the sunlight trace patterns over his dark hair and listened to his quiet, even breaths.

Eventually, her own body relaxed into the mattress. Her hand lifted almost of its own accord. Hesitantly, her fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His brow smoothed even further at the touch, and he let out a soft, contented sigh, nuzzling slightly closer.

A small, helpless smile touched Shin’s lips before she could stop it. This was ridiculous. This was insane.

But that didn't last when Shin's eyes gazed upon Nagumo's peaceful, slumbering face, she couldn't help but let her curiosity get the better of her. Gently, she reached out with her psychic powers, trying to peek into the hidden recesses of his thoughts.

To her surprise, the mental barrier between them parted like a curtain drawn back, revealing a scene that made her breath catch in her throat. 

There, playing out in Nagumo's mind, was—

“A-ah..!”

Huh!?

Shin watched as her other self in the dream trembled under his touch, leaning into his palm like a flower turning towards the sun. Nagumo's eyes flashed with satisfaction at her surrender, and he tugged her close, his body molding to hers with a fierce urgency.

His lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss. Shin's other self gasped as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. Her own lips parted helplessly, inviting him deeper, and he took the unspoken invitation greedily.

Nagumo's hands roamed her body with a desperate, almost punishing grip, mapping out every curve and dip. He hauled her flush against him, eliminating any space between them until she could feel every hard line and plane of his body imprinted on her softer flesh. 

Shin watched as her other self's hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. She gasped softly as Nagumo's hands started to wander. He stroked along the curves of her hips, her waist, her thighs.

His fingers crept beneath the hem of her nightgown, skimming across the smooth skin of her lower back. Her body trembled beneath his touch. 

Nagumo's hands slid higher, mapping the contours of her ribs, the gentle swell of her breasts. He cupped them in his palms, thumbs brushing against the sensitive peaks that hardened instantly at his touch. 

Shin arched into his hands, a breathy moan escaping her lips as he—

"GYAHHHHH!"

Shin screeched. Her leg, which had been tangled with his under the sheets, shot out in a powerful kick just target on his shin.

"OW! Wha—?!" Nagumo jolted awake with a grunt of pain, his peaceful dream shattered. He blinked, his eyes wide and confused, staring up at her from where he was now half-sprawled off the bed. "Shin-chan? Was there an attack?!"

Shin scrambled to sit up, putting as much distance between them as the bed allowed, her face a furious red. 

"Y-you... YOU DIRTY PERVERT!"

Nagumo sat up slowly, rubbing his sore shin, then, an utterly delighted grin spread across his face.

"Oh," he said, his voice a sleepy, mischievous drawl. He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with renewed, awake energy. "Was it a good one? In the dream, I mean."

"SHUT UP!" Shin shrieked, grabbing a pillow and swinging it at his head with all her might. He caught it with a laugh. 

"Stop laughing! Ugh! I shouldn't have looked into your mind!" Shin cried, mortification giving her a fresh burst of strength. She launched herself off the bed, landing squarely on top of him where he sat on the floor, sending them both tumbling backward.

Her intent was to pummel him with her fists, to beat the smug, dreaming grin right off his face. But Nagumo, even injured and freshly awoken, was still Nagumo. He caught her wrists easily as she came down on him, his laughter subsiding into warm, breathless chuckles.

"My dear Shin-chan," he cooed, holding her flailing hands at bay. "You can't blame a man for his dreams. Especially not after the day we had." His eyes, crinkled with mirth, held hers. "And you were the one who went peeking. That's very rude, you know."

"I was just curious!" she insisted, struggling against his grip, which was firm but gentle. "I didn't expect a... Ugh!"

"It was a good dream, though, right?" he asked, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, pulling her just a little closer in their grapple on the floor.

Shin's face felt like it was on fire. She stopped struggling, glaring down at him, acutely aware of their position—her straddling his hips, his hands around her wrists, his body warm and solid beneath hers. 

"Besides, compared to what you did to me yesterday, I'd say this is nothing." Nagumo sighed.

Shin’s confusion only deepened. "What? What do you mean?"

"Now you're going to pretend you didn't do what you did yesterday?" Nagumo released her other wrist and instead draped his arms around her middle, pulling her into a loose hug against his chest. He even buried his face in the fabric of her nightgown (which, she now realized, was definitely not what she’d been wearing last night—a mystery for another time). "What a cruel woman, playing with my feelings and my body like this..." He made a show of wiping nonexistent tears on her shoulder.

The dramatic performance was so over-the-top it circled back to being genuinely baffling. "Are you talking about how I treated your injury?" she asked, completely lost. She’d sewn him up, sure, but it had been necessary.

But that didn't seem to be the case. Nagumo just heaved another tragic sigh and tightened his hug, nuzzling against her. "My innocent, fragile heart... and my poor, defenseless body... taken advantage of in my weakened state..."

What is this man talking about!? Shin's mind screamed. What does he mean by 'body'!? What did I do last night!?

Because she clearly had no memory of it! The last solid thing she remembered was securing the bandage and everything after was a black hole of exhaustion.

"Nagumo," she said. "What. Did. I. Do."

He blinked, "Ohhh," he drawled, the single word full of mischievous implication. "You really don't remember, do you?" He let his gaze drift meaningfully down her body—clad in a soft, borrowed nightgown—and then back to her horrified face.

"Spit it out!" she demanded, her fists clenching in the fabric of his shirt.

"Alright, fine," Nagumo sighed, as if giving in to a great burden. "After you heroically saved my life, you were so overcome with passion that you started officially claiming me as your boyfriend." 

“Hah!?”

"At first, I was confused," he continued, loosening the collar of his shirt. "But then... you began to mark your claim." He pulled the fabric aside to reveal his neck and collarbone.

There, on the side of his neck, were several marks. A couple could generously be called bite marks. The others were unmistakable, purple-red hickeys.

Shin’s jaw dropped so fast it nearly hit the floor. She pointed a trembling finger. "T-This—!"

"And so," Nagumo continued, his voice a syrup-sweet purr as he tightened his arms around her waist, trapping her in his lap, "you'll take responsibility, won't you, my beloved? A woman of your honor wouldn't just leave a man branded and alone..."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, his eyes wide and innocent. 

Shin’s brain short-circuited. She sputtered, pointing a trembling finger at his neck. "I—I did not! I don't even remember doing so!”

Nagumo gasped, looking genuinely appalled. "Shin-chan! To do that to a man and then forget? That's even more cruel!" He buried his face against her neck, his shoulders shaking—though whether with faux-sobs or silent laughter was impossible to tell. "My virtue... my reputation... all gone in one night of your passionate, amnesiac fervor!"

She was going to kill him. She was definitely going to kill him. 

"Fine. Whatever. Yes. I'll take responsibility." Her head fell forward with a soft thump against his shoulder.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the air conditioning.

Then, a small, stunned, "...Really?"

Shin lifted her head. Nagumo was staring at her, his eyes wide and round. He looked like a child who’d just been told he could have the whole cake. 

It was a look of such pure, unguarded surprise that it momentarily stole her breath.

"Yeah," she repeated, feeling her cheeks bloom with heat but pushing through the embarrassment with exaggerated bravado. "I have to take responsibility for that, right?" She reached out and poked one of the alleged marks on his neck. "So, I guess you're stuck with me. My bad."

She said it like a joke, like a gag, but the words hung in the air between them, suddenly feeling much heavier than she'd intended. Nagumo’s surprised expression slowly melted into something else—something warm, soft, and so genuinely happy it made her heart do a funny little flip in her chest. His arms tightened around her waist, not in a teasing trap, but in a real, solid hug.

"Okay," he said, his voice quiet and brimming with a joy that was completely, terrifyingly real. "I guess I am." He rested his forehead against hers, his smile small and breathtakingly sincere. The playful light in Nagumo’s eyes gentled, turning into something deeper, more vulnerable. The teasing lilt faded from his voice, leaving only a quiet intensity. He gently guided her hand from his shoulder, placing her palm flat against his chest.

"Then promise me," he whispered, his gaze holding hers captive. "I'll be yours, and you'll be mine. Forever."

Beneath her palm, she could feel it—the rhythm of his heart. It was a beating against her hand that perfectly mirrored the chaotic pulse she felt in her own throat.

Shin could only stare, her blush deepening to a furious, beautiful scarlet. The world narrowed to the feel of his heartbeat and the depth of his waiting eyes. All the fights, the chaos, the near-death experiences—they had led to this impossible, quiet point. 

Her voice, when it finally came, was a breathless, honest whisper against the charged silence.

"I can’t let you go even if I wanted to…"

It was a surrender. One that Nagumo couldn't help but let a slow, radiant smile bloomed across his face, so bright and genuine it made her own breath catch. A soft, answering blush tinged his own cheeks, making him look younger, hopeful, and utterly real. 

That expression, so open and full of quiet joy, captured her completely.

"Then I'll make sure you never get bored of me," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion.

He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. His eyes asked a silent question. Shin didn't speak. She simply closed her own eyes and gave a small, definitive nod.

His lips met hers. It wasn't like the desperate kiss from the lifeboat room, or the fierce fantasy from his dream. 

This was different. A promise. Soft, lingering, and filled with a tenderness that spoke of shared wounds, protected backs, and a future written in chaos and quiet understanding.

There was no need for whispered "I love you"s between them. The words were redundant. She could feel the truth of it, a radiant, unwavering certainty, shining in the unguarded space of his mind. 

And he, who had always read her reactions like his favorite, chaotic book, could see the same answer written in the tear that escaped her closed eyelid, in the way her hand fisted gently in his shirt over his racing heart, holding him close.

It was a promise, signed in a heartbeat and sealed with a kiss. Forever.

Later. 

Shin leaned back just enough to look at him, her expression turning serious.

"By the way," she began, her voice low. "What really happened last night? I know you didn't tell me the truth."

Nagumo’s eyes, which had been soft with affection, immediately took on a mischievous glint. He tilted his head, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Hmmm," he hummed, drawing the sound out. "Are you sure you wanna know?"

"Yeah," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She needed to know what memory her mind had stolen.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Nah," he said, popping the word with cheerful finality. "I won't tell you!"

Shin’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. "You...!" She shoved at his shoulder, but he just chuckled, rocking back with the motion. "I'll definitely get you for this when you're drunk! I'll make you spill everything!"

A bright, challenging laugh escaped him. "Haha! Good luck trying to get me drunk, Shin-chan!" He winked, the picture of smug confidence. "I have the alcohol tolerance of a legendary agent with a tragic past and excellent circulation. You'd pass out under the table first."

And Shin later found out that what he had said was a lie when, a week later, a drunken Nagumo clung to her.