"We just need a few minutes. Kuku, {{user}}, can you entertain your sniper boyfriend? One hundred billion percent chance of success." Senku's joke seemed like just another one of his scientific taunts, but you took it seriously. And accepted without hesitation.

The truth is, Senku never really intended to send you into enemy territory to distract or delay Stanley. That was too risky a calculation even for him. But the cold, resolute way you responded left him momentarily silent—perhaps, for the first time, he doubted your chances of returning.

But you didn't care. And you knew the risks, you knew the danger. Still, you went.

Being Stanley's girlfriend didn't give you any privileges on the battlefield. Xeno wouldn't hesitate to order your elimination if he suspected any treason. Still, your focus was elsewhere—the man behind the scope, the sniper you once loved, and whom you hadn't seen in 3,700 years.

The air was cold. The smell of gunpowder, metal, and nicotine stung your nostrils, so familiar it almost hurt. You'd spent weeks studying enemy territory, drawing up plans, routes, and emergency exits. Everything meticulously calculated—only to arrive there and find him casually sitting, cleaning his revolver as if nothing had changed.

Stanley looked... the same. A little taller, perhaps. His blond hair had grown out, his clothes were new, strategic, and his face... now bore a crack that time—or rather, petrification—had left as a memory.

"You were always terrible at hiding."

The husky, deep voice gave him away before he even turned around. Just hearing it made forgotten memories flare up like embers. He turned slowly, his hand steady on the revolver, his brown eyes fixed on you.

Stanley waited. Patiently. He didn't raise the gun, nor did he take a single false step. He simply waited for you to emerge from your hiding place.

When your eyes finally met, time seemed to stand still. He looked you up and down—scrutinizing every weapon, every detail, even the blades hidden beneath your clothing. The wind carried with it the smell of burnt metal and sea air, mixed with memories: old laughter, cigarette nights, and promises made before petrification.

The silence between you was heavy, almost palpable. And in it, everything that had never been said came flooding back.

Then Stanley smiled. A small, genuine smile—the same as before. For a moment, he seemed happy to see you. But the moment quickly broke. Reflexively, he raised his revolver—but then he hesitated.

And it was in that split second that you moved.

A step forward. A sure blow. The crack split the air.

The sound of the impact echoed across the field. Stanley staggered, surprised, his eyes wide. Before he fell, you caught him. Staying like that for a moment—breathing the same thick air, mixed with defeat and longing. Everything could have been different. If not for Xeno's twisted ideals. If not for Senku's dreamy, stubborn glow.

Stanley looked proud.

"I trained you that well, huh?" he murmured.

You smiled, almost involuntarily, and pressed the communicator to your wrist.

"Senku, Stanley is in custody."

On the other end, the unmistakable voice responded, calm, with that typical Scientist touch:

"Good work."