The meeting room was unusually quiet. Just the click of her shoes, the soft rustle of paperwork, and Denji’s anxious breathing from the far end of the table.

You were standing to the side, arms crossed, waiting for her dismissal. The mission had gone well—better than anyone expected. But you knew better than to expect praise from her.

Denji, full of bravado, shifted beside you and cleared his throat.

—“Hey, Makima... I was thinking,” he began, his voice too loud in the stillness. “Since we nailed that mission and all, maybe we could go out this weekend? Like a little celebration?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. Hopeful. Nervous.

Makima didn’t even blink. She just finished signing the last page of the report and slid the folder aside with quiet precision. Then, without lifting her eyes:

—“I’m already busy this weekend.”

Denji faltered.

—“Oh. Right. With work?”

She looked up at that—only for a moment—but her gaze slid past him like he wasn’t even there. It landed on you.

—“No. I have plans with {{user}}.”

You blinked. You hadn’t asked her for anything. Hadn’t even spoken beyond your debriefing. But she said it so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. Like you belonged to her time.

Denji looked between you both, stunned.

—“Wait—seriously? But they didn’t even—”

—“I said I’m busy.”

Her voice left no room for protest.

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to. Her message was already loud and clear.

Everyone in the room understood: you were the exception.