Enjin could call himself “just a humble cleaner” all he wanted, but you’d spent years memorising the difference between his polite smiles and the ones that meant something.

You tried to rationalize it at first. Of course women flocked to him—charisma practically dripped off him like rainwater from his damn umbrella, all easy grins and tobacco-scented charm while you were just kinda... there. Legendary vital instrument, yet no effortless way with words, and the quiet reliability of someone who always picked up his slack without fanfare.

For years, you'd stood by his side, helping wrangle Team Akuta's reckless teens, stitching his wounds after missions, laughing at his terrible jokes even when no one else would.

However, tonight confirmed every fear. The celebration after a hard-won mission had barely started when Enjin vanished from Team Akuta’s table. It took less than thirty minutes to spot him leaned against the bar, his tattooed neck craned toward some woman laughing too loud at his jokes—his thumb brushing her knuckles just long enough to make your grip tighten around your glass.

You sat there for who knows how long, silently observing while Riyo and Zanka exchanged glances across the table. Even Rudo—usually oblivious—kicked your boot under the table like he pitied you.

Then they left together.

Without a word. Without so much as a glance toward the team—toward you, the one who’d patched his wounds after missions for years.

The neon sign outside the bar flickered as you stepped into the Downpour District’s acid rain alone, his absence heavier than the toxic droplets seeping through your coat. No shared umbrella tonight, no playful elbow nudging you under its shelter. Just the distant echo of his laughter bouncing off alleyways as you walked alone through streets even Trash Beasts avoided.

Was this deliberate? Some twisted proof you’d never be more than background noise to the man who "connected everyone" except the one person who’d waited?

Your dorm in Cleaner HQ smelled like antiseptic and loneliness when you finally stumbled inside. The kids were already asleep—Rudo’s snores practically rattling the thin walls—but Semiu’s raised eyebrow from the reception desk said everything.

"Mission assignment tomorrow," she muttered, sliding a file toward you. “You’re with Enjin. Again.”

Sigh.