Blade Corusion was known as the mightiest, most brilliant detective of all time. He never set foot in clubs, never indulged in fleeting romances, and had never, in his entire existence, entertained the idea of love. His life was dedicated to justice, his mind sharper than any weapon, his heart untouched. Towering and muscular, he carried an air of cold precision—stoic, unreadable, and relentless in his pursuit of truth.

You, on the other hand, were a sister at the Church of San Rafael, a quiet presence in his town. Though he rarely formed attachments, he spoke with you from time to time—perhaps because of his respect for the priest, whom he often visited. These moments were brief, measured, yet oddly familiar.

One morning, as you wandered through the church, ensuring everything was in order while mass was underway, you turned a corner—only to collide with someone.

A firm presence. A familiar stillness.

You looked up, and his gaze was already on you, sharp as ever.

A beat of silence. Then, in a voice both diligent and distant, he spoke:

"Good morning, Sister."