The first rays of dawn crept through the worn blinds of Nitrian's cramped bedroom, thin slivers of gold slicing across the faded blue walls and pooling on the scuffed wooden floor. His wild black curls spilled over the pillow, a chaotic halo framing his small face. He stirred slowly, the faint hum of the waking city seeping through the thin windowpane—horns blaring in staccato bursts, a distant siren wailing like a mournful ghost, the restless pulse of Seoul alive even at this hour. The air carried a new weight today, a subtle buzz of mana that prickled against his skin, teasing the dragon blood coiled in his veins. Gates had begun to appear, rare and mysterious, dotting the city like cracks in a fragile shell.
His green eyes snapped open, sharp and blazing with a fire that didn't belong to a ten-year-old. He lay still for a moment, soaking in the quiet before the storm, then rolled out of bed with a fluid grace. His small, wiry frame stretched upward, curls bouncing as his bare feet hit the cool floor. Time-Savers worked its magic—no trace of sleep lingered in his eyes, no tangle marred his hair—just a pristine, fresh-faced kid staring back from the cracked mirror propped against the wall. He smirked, a glint of something older flickering in his gaze, a 24-year-old mind peering out from a youthful shell.
"Another day to climb higher," he muttered, letting the words hang in the air, voice light but edged with steel.
He tilted his head, staring at his reflection, the smirk softening into something sharper, more deliberate. (Gates are here—right on schedule. The world's tilting already—Min-Jae's gone, Norma's hiding something. I'm not drifting through this; I'm taking it, shaping it… mostly.) A soft chuckle slipped out, low and private, his battle-hungry side stirring like a beast waking up. His cheeks warmed faintly, thoughts drifting to a few key girls he could pull into his orbit. (For the mission, obviously. Gotta pick winners—strategy first.)
The apartment lay hushed, a stillness broken only by the soft creak of the floorboards under his steps. Norma slept down the hall, her breathing a faint rhythm behind her closed door—he could hear it if he focused, steady and deep. Nitrian padded to the living room, the worn couch sagging under a pile of folded laundry, a chipped coffee table littered with old magazines, their edges curling from age. He paused there, closing his eyes, and reached for his Pocket Space. The air shimmered faintly, a pull tugging at his core like a thread unraveling, and he stepped through into his "Dragon Den"—a sprawling mansion hidden in its own timeless pocket.
The shift was jarring: the apartment's stale warmth gave way to a cool, mana-rich breeze that swept across his face, lifting his curls slightly. The main hall of the Dragon Den unfolded before him, vast and imposing, its polished marble floors gleaming under high, arched ceilings. Sunlight—or something mimicking it—streamed through tall windows, casting long, soft shadows that stretched across the space. He'd only started using this place recently, and its scale still hit him every time—1,200 square meters of raw possibility, modern perks like a flatscreen humming faintly in the corner, a kitchen he hadn't dared tackle yet, all stainless steel and intimidatingly pristine. For now, he'd claimed a corner for training: battered cardboard boxes stacked unevenly as targets, a cleared patch of floor for movement, and a messy pile of manga spilling across a low table, their colorful covers a splash of chaos in the sleek expanse.
He inhaled deeply, the air thick with mana, clean and potent, like breathing in the essence of power itself. His chest warmed, a familiar heat rising as he extended a hand, palm up. A golden orb of Sunshine magic flickered to life above it, small at first, no bigger than a marble, its glow tentative and soft. He focused, narrowing his eyes, pouring intent into it, and the orb swelled, brightening until it bathed the hall in a warm, radiant light, casting his shadow long and sharp against the far wall. His endless mana held it steady, a pulsing sun in miniature, and he tilted his head, green eyes gleaming as he studied it with a predator's focus.
"Nice," he murmured, letting the word linger, rolling it around like a taste.
(Sunshine's my trump card—raw force, adaptable, bold. If I can bend it to burn at night, I'll rewrite the rules of this game. No limits, just power.)
He flicked the orb upward with a casual toss, watching it arc through the air, catching it mid-flight with a giggle that echoed faintly in the vast space. The sound bounced back, a kid's playfulness masking a mind like a steel trap. He split it into three smaller orbs, willing them to orbit him in a slow, graceful dance—one high near his shoulder, one circling his waist, one skimming the floor. Their light painted the walls in shifting gold, streaks and swirls that danced across the marble like liquid fire, warm and alive.
(Night's where it counts—dark's a challenge, not a wall. If I crack that, I'll own it. Let's see what I've got.)
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, picturing a moonlit night—stars faint, shadows deep and oppressive, the kind of darkness that swallowed light whole. He pushed the orbs to hold their glow, defying the imagined gloom. They wavered, dimming for a heartbeat, their light stuttering like a candle in the wind. He gritted his teeth, leaning into it, and they steadied, their gold cutting through the mental night like defiant beacons. He opened his eyes, a slow grin spreading across his face, sharp and satisfied.
"Solid start," he said, pausing to let the words settle, voice bright but laced with a critical edge. He tapped a finger against his chin, green eyes narrowing as he weighed the effort.
(It's holding, but it's shaky—too shaky. Monarchs won't give me room to stumble, and that rival's out there, waiting. This needs to be flawless, unbreakable.)
The orbs faded as he shifted focus, flexing his arms with a slow, deliberate motion, feeling the shift in his skin. Black scales shimmered into view, spreading across his forearms like ink bleeding through paper, hard as steel and glinting faintly in the light. His Dragon Aura pulsed outward, a subtle weight that pressed against the air, making the space feel smaller, heavier, as if the walls themselves bent toward him. He tapped the scales with a fingernail, smirking at the faint clink—a sound like metal kissing metal—his curls falling into his eyes as he tilted his head, a spark of cunning lighting his face.
"Still got it," he said softly, almost to himself, savoring the feel of it.
(Dragon blood's my foundation—strength to break mountains, toughness to take hits, speed to outrun anything. Flight's the next piece; I'll own the skies, no question.)
He took a deep breath, reaching deeper, summoning the dragon coiled inside him. His shadow stretched across the floor, jagged and wild, as leathery wings half-formed behind him—dark, sinewy, their edges trembling with a strange allure after days of being tucked away. He crouched, muscles tensing, then leaped, speed and agility launching him toward the ceiling. The wings flickered into sharper focus, beating once with a heavy whoosh, and for a brief, glorious moment, he hovered, the air rushing past his curls, a thrill singing in his veins like a war drum. Then they faltered, edges dissolving, and he dropped, rolling across the marble with a laugh that bounced off the walls, free and wild.
"Close," he said, sprawling on his back, chest heaving, voice chipper but mind already dissecting. He stared up at the ceiling, letting the moment sink in.
(Hover's stronger—mana's the key, just a bit more focus. A little push, and I'll be soaring. That's a game-changer, no doubt.)
He pushed himself up, brushing dust off his shorts with a quick swipe, and turned to a wooden plank propped against a box, its surface weathered and splintered. He flexed his fingers, scales flaring across his knuckles like a second skin, and charged, power and precision guiding his fist. The wood shattered with a sharp crack, splinters scattering like confetti across the floor, and Nitrian whooped, battle-lust igniting in his chest, green eyes blazing with delight.
"Monarchs, you're toast!" he crowed, fists raised, voice ringing out as he pictured towering foes crumbling under his strength. He held the pose, letting the rush flood through him, his mind alive with the thrill of what he could become.
(They'll kneel or burn—I'm taking it all, step by step.)
He paused, catching his breath, chest rising and falling as he let the scales recede, skin smoothing back to normal. No point testing lures here—no one to charm in this empty hall, just the hum of silence and his own echo.
"Later," he muttered, kicking at a stray splinter with his toe. (School's the place for that. Ju-Hee, Hae-In—only the best make the cut, no extras.) A blush crept up his cheeks, his tsundere side kicking in with a grumbled thought. (Not for them, just the plan—gotta build smart! So annoying.) He shook it off, stepping back through the shimmering threshold into the apartment, the cool mana air replaced by the familiar stuffiness of home. The day stretched out ahead, ripe for the taking.
The walk to school was a slow burn, a chance to plot beneath the mask of a bubbly kid. The morning sun hung low, casting long shadows across the cracked sidewalks, painting the world in sharp contrasts of light and dark. The city's hum buzzed around him—cars rumbling past, their engines a low growl, vendors shouting over each other to hawk breakfast skewers, the occasional clatter of a bike weaving through traffic with a sharp ring of its bell. Jin-Woo walked beside him, fourteen and lanky, dark eyes scanning the street with a quiet focus that Nitrian appreciated in its understated way. Jin-Ah bounded ahead, eight and unstoppable, her pigtails bouncing with every skip, her laughter a bright thread weaving through the noise, cutting through the morning haze. The air carried exhaust and a faint mana buzz, gates still a rare, unsettling whisper in Seoul's daily grind, their presence more rumor than reality to most.
Jin-Ah spun around, planting her feet with a dramatic thud, her schoolbag swinging wildly from one shoulder. Her grin was all teeth, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Oppa, race me!" she challenged, jabbing a finger at Nitrian, her voice loud enough to turn a few heads.
He tilted his head, a teasing smirk curling his lips, his act polished to a shine but his mind razor-sharp beneath it.
(She's a spark—her, Mom, they're the stakes, the anchor.)
"Only if you call me the coolest, cutie," he shot back, letting the words roll out slow and playful, laced with a subtle pull that made them stick, his shota charm cranked high. His green eyes flickered, a faint glow shimmering around him, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
Jin-Ah puffed her cheeks, hands slamming onto her hips, her pout exaggerated and fierce.
"No way!" she huffed, stomping a foot for emphasis.
"Then you're too slow, goof!" Nitrian retorted, sticking out his tongue with a quick flick before bolting, a blur of speed that kicked up dust in his wake.
Jin-Ah squealed, tearing after him, her sneakers slapping the pavement in a frantic rhythm, her laughter trailing behind like a banner. Jin-Woo jogged behind, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his steady pace a quiet counterpoint to the chaos unfolding ahead.
(My path, my speed—I'm the one setting the beat here.)
The school loomed ahead, a squat concrete building ringed by a chain-link fence, its courtyard alive with kids shouting and chasing each other under the morning sun, a chaotic swirl of motion and noise. Nitrian slipped into the fray, turning the space into a proving ground, his charm pulling eyes while he blended seamlessly into the crowd. He slid into his classroom, the air thick with the scent of chalk dust and sweat, the windows cracked open to let in a sluggish breeze. He flopped into his desk by the window, legs swinging lazily, green eyes roving over the room—kids whispering behind cupped hands, a girl doodling flowers in her notebook, the teacher scribbling equations on the board with a squeak of chalk. Math he'd mastered in another life droned on, but he kept his face blank, a perfect mask, chin propped on one hand.
(Child's play—been there, crushed it. I'm here to watch, charm, scheme, not solve for x.)
Lunch rolled around, the bell cutting through the monotony with a shrill ring that jolted the room awake. Nitrian grabbed his bento—Norma's handiwork, rice packed tight with kimchi and crispy chicken, wrapped in a faded cloth—and headed outside, settling under a gnarled tree in the courtyard. The bark was rough against his back, the grass patchy beneath him, but it was a good spot—shaded, quiet, a perch to watch the world. Jin-Woo joined him, dropping down with his own lunch, the two of them a quiet island amid the chatter of kids spilling out around them. Nitrian popped a piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing slowly, the tangy spice waking his senses as he flicked his green eyes to his friend.
"Mr. Kim's tie today—clown stole it, right?" he quipped, letting the words hang, voice playful, probing the air.
Jin-Woo snorted, a rare crack in his calm, amusement softening his dark gaze as he poked at his rice.
"You'll get caught one day," he said, warm but firm, his tone carrying a hint of a warning wrapped in fondness.
Nitrian grinned, popping another bite, letting the silence stretch before he replied.
"Nah, I'm untouchable," he said, winking slow and deliberate, charm smoothing the brag, his mind already drifting elsewhere.
(He's steady—good to know he's there.)
The courtyard stretched out before them, a patchwork of kids sprawled on benches or kicking a ball across the dusty ground, shouts and laughter blending into a messy hum. Nitrian's gaze wandered, landing on Lee Joo-Hee, a fourteen-year-old perched on a low wall with a cluster of older students. Her short orange hair caught the sunlight, a vivid splash against her plain uniform, glinting like a flame as she tilted her head. Her fingers picked nervously at a clump of rice wrapped in seaweed, her shoulders hunched slightly, a quiet tension in her frame. Not a hunter yet, but Nitrian knew her future—a healer with grit, tied to bigger battles down the line. His instincts flared, strategy locking in like a key turning in a lock.
(Joo-Hee's a prize—future gold, raw potential. Time to test the waters, see what she's got.)
He pushed off the ground, brushing crumbs from his shorts with a quick swipe, and sauntered over, confidence rolling off him like heat. The distance closed slowly, his steps casual but deliberate, green eyes fixed on her. He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.
"Hey, Joo-Hee," he called, voice sliding out smooth, edged with a magnetic pull that made it linger, hidden wings simmering with allure beneath his skin. "You're looking sharp today—spare some rice for your VIP?"
She glanced up, eyes widening for a split second, caught off guard. Her fingers froze mid-pick, seaweed crumbling slightly in her grip. Then a faint, shy smile tugged at her lips, softening the nerves in her face.
"Uh… sure, Nitrian," she said, her tone soft but curious, hesitating as she nudged a bit of rice his way with tentative fingers. "You really think I look sharp?"
He took it, smirking as their hands brushed, a spark of potential humming in his chest, warm and sure.
"Yeah, totally," he said, popping the rice into his mouth, chewing slow to let the moment sit. "You've got a vibe—hard to miss."
(She's a keeper—nervous, but there's something there. Worth the effort.) His cheeks flushed faintly, tsundere side rearing up with a grumbled thought. (Not about her—just the game, building the team! Ugh, so dumb.) He turned away, raking a hand through his curls, playing it off with a quick toss of his head.
A shadow loomed over him, heavy and deliberate—Min-Soo, a bulky kid with a mean streak, sneered down, his broad frame blocking the sun like a storm cloud. His uniform strained at the shoulders, dirt smudged on his knuckles from some earlier scuffle.
"Flirting again, curly?" he growled, voice thick with disdain, fists clenching at his sides, a faint twitch in his jaw.
Nitrian's grin sharpened, battle-lust sparking in his chest, mind staying ice-cold and clear.
(Test dummy—perfect chance. Keep it tight, no flash.)
"Hotter than you, brickhead," he taunted, letting the words drip out slow, cheeky and deliberate.
Min-Soo's face twisted, a snarl breaking free, and he lunged, swinging a meaty fist at Nitrian's head. Nitrian sidestepped fast, a blur of motion, the air whistling past his ear. He stuck out a foot, casual but precise, and Min-Soo tripped, crashing face-first into the dirt with a muffled thud, dust billowing around him like a small explosion. Nitrian loomed, smirking, hands on his hips, letting the silence stretch as the bully groaned.
"Stay down, chump," he said, voice low and sharp, a faint pressure lacing it, controlled but cutting.
(Just a taste—no overkill, no spotlight.)
Jin-Woo appeared at his side, grabbing his arm with a calm, firm grip, his presence steady as stone.
"Cool it, Nitrian," he said, voice low, tugging him back with just enough force to make the point.
Nitrian glanced at him, pout forming slow and dramatic, sticking his tongue out at Min-Soo's sprawled form.
"Fine," he huffed, letting the word hang, mind nodding along. (No eyes on me yet—smart call.)
He let Jin-Woo tug him away, the courtyard fading into background noise as he shifted focus to the afternoon, a restless energy simmering under his skin, itching for more.
After school, Nitrian broke off from Jin-Woo and Jin-Ah at the gate, the afternoon sun slanting low, painting the streets in amber and stretching shadows long across the pavement. Jin-Ah's protests echoed behind him, her voice rising in a sharp whine—"Not fair!"—but he didn't look back, curls bouncing as he moved.
"Got plans!" he called over his shoulder, voice bright and clipped, vanishing in a burst of speed that kicked up a swirl of dust, the air rippling faintly in his wake.
He headed for a forest tucked behind the neighborhood, a hidden patch of green hemmed in by Seoul's concrete sprawl, a secret kept from the city's relentless grind. The trees loomed tall, their branches thick with dark leaves that rustled softly in the breeze, the air heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, a sharp contrast to the exhaust-choked streets. He slipped through the undergrowth, senses sharpening—the snap of a twig underfoot, the faint chirp of a bird overhead, the wild calling to him like an old friend tugging at his sleeve. A squirrel perched on a low branch, its tail twitching like a metronome, watched him pass without a flicker of fear, calm and unbothered in his presence.
He found a clearing, a small pocket where sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the mossy ground in shifting patterns of gold and green. The space was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city, a bubble of stillness carved out of the chaos. He dropped his schoolbag against a gnarled root, the thud muffled by the soft earth, and stretched his arms high, feeling the tension in his muscles unwind, a slow roll of his shoulders as he settled in. His green eyes glinted, a predator's focus locking into place as he cracked his knuckles one by one, the sound sharp in the silence.
"Showtime," he said, voice eager, letting it linger as he rocked on his heels, mind snapping into gear.
(Master it all—gates are here, time's running. Monarchs, rival, I'm not waiting for anyone.)
He flexed his arms, scales rippling across his skin, black and gleaming like polished obsidian, the air growing heavy as his aura pulsed outward, a low thrum that made the leaves quiver faintly. The forest seemed to lean in, branches rustling as if in response. He turned to a fallen log, its bark weathered and split, moss clinging to its edges like a patchy beard. He stepped closer, planting his feet, and drove his fist into it, scales flaring across his knuckles. The wood shattered with a deep, satisfying crack, chunks flying into the underbrush, bouncing off roots and ferns. He grinned, battle-lust roaring in his chest, a wild edge to his expression as he shook out his hand.
"Take that," he muttered, voice low, letting the rush settle into his bones.
(Strength's climbing—low gates won't stand a chance. Gotta push it harder, make it mine.)
He stepped back, shaking out his hand, fingers tingling from the impact, and crouched low, eyes narrowing as he summoned his wings. His shadow stretched across the clearing, jagged and wild, spilling over the moss like ink. Leathery wings flickered into view, dark and sinewy, their edges trembling with pent-up allure after days of being tucked away. He took a breath, steadying himself, then leaped, the ground blurring beneath him as he launched upward. The wings beat once, twice—a heavy whoosh cutting through the air—and he hovered, just for a heartbeat, the wind whipping through his curls, a wild thrill surging through him like lightning. Then they faltered, edges dissolving into shadow, and he dropped, tumbling into the grass with a laugh, rolling to a stop amid a scatter of leaves and twigs.
"Almost there," he said, sprawling out, chest heaving, voice bright with excitement. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the canopy, letting the cool grass press against his back.
(Flight's so close—more mana, more control, and I'll stick it. I'll be untouchable up there, no question.)
He sat up, brushing dirt from his knees with a lazy swipe, and turned to his Sunshine magic. Sitting cross-legged in the clearing, he sank into the moment, the sunlight warm on his face, a perfect fuel for what came next. He held out both hands, palms up, and a golden orb sparked to life, hovering above them, its glow soft at first, tentative like a dawn breaking. He focused, letting the heat build in his chest, and it flared brighter, swelling to the size of a grapefruit, its light pulsing faintly. He split it into six smaller orbs, willing them to spin around him like a miniature solar system—one high near his head, others weaving around his torso, their trails of gold streaking the air. He tilted his head, studying them, green eyes sharp with focus, tracing their paths.
"Pretty," he murmured, letting the word hang, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
(Night's the prize—break the dark, make it bow. That's where the real edge lives.)
He closed his eyes, exhaling slow and deep, picturing a moonless night—the kind of black that swallowed everything, thick and unyielding. The orbs flickered, dimming under the mental strain, their light stuttering like a heartbeat faltering. He gritted his teeth, leaning into it, sweat beading on his forehead as he pushed harder, willing them to hold. They steadied, their gold slicing through the imagined gloom, defiant and fierce, casting faint shadows across his closed eyelids.
"Not bad," he said, opening his eyes, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, a grin tugging wider. He let the orbs hover a moment longer, watching their dance, then flicked his fingers to let them fade.
(It's holding—needs polish, but it's a start. I'll get there, step by step.)
He shifted to his voice, standing with a stretch, rolling his neck as a flock of birds chittered in the branches above, their calls a soft chorus against the forest's quiet. He took a breath, letting his tone turn smooth and sweet, a pull weaving through it like silk.
"Come here, pretties," he called, voice soft but commanding, letting it drift up to them.
The birds swooped down, wings fluttering as they landed in a loose circle around him, their small eyes locked on his, caught in the lure. He giggled, crouching to watch them hop closer, their heads tilting in unison.
"Cute," he said, grinning, letting the moment stretch as he held their gaze.
(Ju-Hee's the first—only the best make the cut, no extras.) His cheeks warmed, tsundere side flaring up with a grumbled thought. (Not for her—just strategy, building smart! Ugh, so annoying.)
He cut the lure with a quick hum, the birds scattering back to the trees in a flurry of feathers, and flopped onto his back in the grass, arms spread wide. The sky glowed a soft orange through the canopy, dusk creeping in slow and heavy, and for a moment, he let the quiet sink into him, green eyes softening as he traced the shifting clouds.
"Nothing beats this," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
(This won't last—I'll take the lead, my way, my rules.)
Dusk painted the sky in deep oranges and purples as Nitrian headed home, his sneakers scuffing the pavement in a slow, uneven rhythm, dirt streaking his shorts and arms from the forest. Time-Savers would clean him up later—he didn't care now, the wild energy still buzzing in his veins, a restless hum that kept his steps light. The city sprawled around him, buildings crowding the horizon, their lights flickering on one by one like stars waking up. The air shifted as he turned a corner, growing colder, sharper—a surge of mana hitting him like a slap, sudden and electric. Scales prickled unbidden along his arms, tiny black flecks glinting in the fading light, his blood roaring in response, a dragon waking to a threat.
"Oh, hello," he said, voice low, a grin splitting his face as hunger sparked in his chest, mind snapping to attention.
(D-rank, fresh—no breach for days. Something's up, and I'm not missing it.)
He didn't charge in—ten years old on the outside meant playing it smart, not bold. He darted off the main street, slipping into a narrow alley, his small frame weaving past trash bins and rusted bikes, shadows cloaking him as he moved. The mana pulled him like a thread, guiding him through the twists until he reached a tight street, hemmed in by sagging buildings. There it was—a gate, a blue swirl pulsing against the brick wall, its light casting eerie, shifting patterns on the cracked asphalt, a soft hum vibrating in the air. A crowd had gathered—shopkeepers in aprons, kids clutching backpacks, a few old men leaning on canes—murmuring and pointing, their faces tight with unease, voices overlapping in a nervous buzz. Three hunters stood near the gate, low-rankers in mismatched gear—leather patched with duct tape, a dented sword, a chipped axe—their voices sharp with nerves as they argued, heads close together.
"It's just D-rank—quit stalling!" one snapped, his voice cracking.
"Then you go first!" another shot back, gripping his axe tighter.
Nitrian ducked behind a dumpster, its rusted edge cold against his shoulder, and crouched low, green eyes narrowing as he took it in. His heart thumped, excitement mixing with caution, but he stayed put, a kid's body keeping him grounded despite the 24-year-old mind racing inside.
(D-rank, unstable—no monsters yet, locked tight for days. These clowns are a mess—nervous, sloppy. If they botch it, we're looking at a break. Can't let that slide, but I'm not dumb enough to walk up like I own it.)
He shifted slightly, peering through the crowd, and spotted Joo-Hee—orange hair glinting under a flickering streetlamp, her schoolbag clutched tight to her chest, her face pale but steady, eyes fixed on the gate. She stood near the edge, apart from the others, her breath visible in the cooling air. Nitrian's earlier chat with her flashed back—the rice, her shy smile—and a spark of opportunity flickered.
(Joo-Hee's here—didn't expect that. She's tougher than she looks, standing that close. Maybe she's more than just potential.)
He didn't call out—shouting across a crowd with hunters nearby wasn't the move. Instead, he edged along the alley, staying low, until he was closer to her spot, just a few yards away behind a stack of crates. He peeked out, catching her eye as she glanced around, nervous but alert. He flashed a quick grin, small but real, and raised a hand in a little wave, keeping it subtle.
"Hey," he said, voice soft, just loud enough to reach her, letting it carry a hint of warmth. "You holding up?"
She blinked, startled, then relaxed a fraction, her grip on her bag loosening slightly. A faint smile tugged at her lips, hesitant but there.
"Yeah… it's weird, right?" she said, her voice quiet, glancing back at the gate before meeting his eyes again. "You're not scared?"
He shrugged, leaning against the crates, playing it casual even as his mind churned.
"Nah, just curious," he said, letting the words roll out easy. "Stick close to the edge, though—safer that way."
(She's hooked from earlier—keep it light, build it slow. No rush.) His cheeks warmed faintly, tsundere side grumbling. (Not about her—just smart moves! Ugh.)
She nodded, shifting her stance, and he pulled back, slipping deeper into the alley before the hunters could spot him. His heart pounded, adrenaline spiking as he melted into the shadows, green eyes blazing with a mix of caution and thrill.
"Later," he muttered, barely audible, a promise to himself.
(It's real now—I'm in it, but I'm not jumping blind. Watch it, wait, strike when it's mine. Game's on.)