The bell above the café door jingled softly as you stepped inside, drenched and half-frozen. You barely noticed your soaked shoes until Waka wordlessly slid a folded towel across the table toward you.

“Late again,” Takeomi said without looking up from his phone, but there was no bite in his tone.

“You didn’t tell me the weather would declare war,” you muttered, trying to wring rain from your sleeves. Senju laughed into her mug, steam fogging her glasses.

“We thought you’d bring an umbrella,” she teased, sipping something too strong for its size. “Rookie mistake.”

Waka leaned back in his chair, stretching. “You’ve been out on solo rounds for what, three weeks? Still trying to prove yourself?”