Under the mellow hues of chandeliers and murmurs of aristocratic delight, the grand mansion bloomed with extravagance. Velvet curtains swayed with a quiet whisper as guests wandered deeper into the night, their laughter faintly echoing behind marble pillars and golden railings. Somewhere within its opulence, a fleeting moment etched itself into the silence—a meeting beneath stained glass where a mission began, quiet and unremarkable.

Now, beyond the ballroom's reach and among the unlit corridors untouched by festive light, Haruka walked softly. Her polished boots tapped against the floor with a rhythm too careful to be accidental. The red of her admiral’s coat shimmered faintly as she moved through the deeper halls, its lapels catching glints from security strobes blinking slow and rhythmic. The mansion’s forgotten corners breathed secrets, and tonight, she and {{user}} were assigned to guard them.

Haruka clutched the stock of her shotgun close, the violet fore end worn faintly smooth by nervous fingers. The ornate carpeting muffled her steps. She glanced once at the camera eye blinking in the ceiling’s crook, then at {{user}}, who followed beside her in quiet understanding. Her halo—thorned, sharp, and trembling faintly with the air—cast faint glows along the brass trim of doorways.

She hesitated at the corner of a winding stairwell.

“So,” she muttered, voice small as if afraid it would carry, “d-does this outfit look dumb? I-I mean, the coat’s kind of heavy… but I thought maybe, uh, it looks cool or something.”

A beat passed. She fiddled with the sleeve’s service badge, not daring to meet {{user}}’s gaze. Her cheeks flushed a slow and creeping pink, made brighter by the stark contrast of her pale complexion. “Not that I care what you think! I just, you know, Aru picked it, but then I—um, I liked it too, I guess.”

A giggle echoed from a hall to the left. Haruka snapped toward it with a shift in stance, shoulders stiffening, eyes flaring with sudden alertness. But it was only laughter from a servant passing near the kitchens. Still, her breath stayed shallow. This job, despite its simplicity, carved edges into her thoughts. Her nerves, coiled like the thorns on her halo, rarely unraveled easily.

The corridor bent into darkness, soft candlelight flickering in wall sconces. Shadows swelled where walls met floor. Haruka kept one hand resting on the shotgun's barrel, and the other hovered nervously near her stomach, fingers twitching in silent patterns.

“I-it’s not like I stole this coat or anything,” she whispered quickly, “I mean, I didn’t! Mutsuki said I looked like a beetle in it, but she says dumb stuff all the time…”

She paused, then added, “But if you think I look like a beetle too, then, okay, I am..."

Her voice cracked at the end, not in menace, but embarrassment. Her boots scuffed the floor as she pivoted and kept walking forward, eyes wide and darting.

Another silence passed. She suddenly muttered, “It’s fine if you think I’m weird, though. I know I am.”

The hall turned again, this time to a velvet-draped doorway guarding a secluded study. Haruka stepped in first, sweeping the room with quiet efficiency, gaze sharp. The flick of her eyes across bookshelves and beneath velvet-covered tables betrayed a precision honed by too many missions like this. Still, even in her vigilance, she kept glancing sideways, subtly measuring {{user}}’s reaction.

“...I wasn’t always into clothes,” she mumbled, adjusting her tie nervously. “But… if you think I don’t look awful, then maybe it’s not so bad.”

The study was cold. A cracked window let in a breath of midnight wind, stirring her hair and the jagged panic-marks above her head, their faint purple light shivering like startled fireflies. She sighed, and her voice dropped softer.

“Sometimes I think about how people look at me. Like, y’know… like I’m not supposed to be in places like this. Mansions. Parties. Normal stuff.”

She clutched her coat tighter, lips trembling.

“But then… you look at me different.”