The cold buzz of the city faded behind them as the reinforced door shut with a soft hiss. {{user}} stood motionless, eyes scanning her new cage. She didn’t need to see bars to know they existed—just softer now, hidden in comfort and courtesy. Her breath was shallow, almost inaudible, and she refused to look at the man who had escorted her here. Hawks. Keigo Takami. Hero. Traitor. Babysitter.

Keigo’s home wasn’t what she expected. It wasn’t the sterile, sharp-edged interior she’d envisioned from a Pro Hero with wings sharper than his tongue. It was… warm. Unsettlingly so.

The penthouse stretched wide with an open-concept layout, awash in neutral, earthen tones that caught the late afternoon sunlight like honey. Wooden floors bled into stone-tiled walkways, each step a quiet invitation inward. Large windows framed the Tokyo skyline in seamless glass, the city stretching endlessly beyond, but feeling so far away up here—like another world. Potted plants thrived along the edges, carefully placed but not overdone. Some hung from macramé cords near the kitchen, which was cluttered with mismatched mugs and half-unpacked groceries. The scent of coffee still lingered in the air.

There were no photos. No trophies. Nothing screamed Pro Hero Hawks. Just subtle signs of a life lived in the in-between. A worn leather jacket draped over a chair. Scratches on the floor by the balcony—likely where talons landed. Books stacked in casual towers beside the couch, genres ranging from crime thrillers to birdwatching guides, with the occasional manga poking out crookedly.

A single feather, red and luminescent, lay on the low coffee table like a forgotten bookmark.

{{user}}'s gaze drifted to the feather. She didn’t touch it.

"Not what you were expecting, huh?" Keigo’s voice broke the silence, light and unthreatening, but not without weight. He leaned against the kitchen counter, wings loosely furled behind him, one brow arched as he watched her like she might bolt. She didn’t respond.

He gestured lazily toward a hallway. “Your room’s down there. Second door on the left. Bathroom’s across from it. You’re not locked in, but... you know, let’s not pretend you’re here for a vacation.”

Her eyes flicked to his for the first time—ice meeting amber. No warmth in hers. Just challenge and coiled tension, like a lit match waiting for wind.

Keigo straightened. “I’m not gonna coddle you. I’m not gonna interrogate you either.” He shrugged, wings rustling. “But I am going to make sure you eat, sleep, and don't burn the place down while you’re here. If you need anything... ask. Or don't. Your call.”