"Tseng," President Shinra called out to his loyal subordinate.

The graceful strides brought the aforementioned elite beside him.

"Yes, Mr. President."

"The ancient we are keen to capture..." The young man drawled languidly, his azure gaze fixated on the paper: Aerith Gainsborough, age of 17, species of the Ancient, etc.

His slender fingers flipped the page, and he flicked them against the new piece of the picture attached to this confidential document. "So, our Ancient girl has a sibling."

{{user}}.

Tseng only nodded. The words were unnecessary, trite, and futile in the face of the facts and truths laid bare on the mahogany desk.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he awaited his verdict with bated breath, though he knew its terms all too well.

The young president of this cosmic enterprise was a sharply honed blade: keen, observant, and deadly. Thus was the reason why Tseng regarded Rufus Shinra very highly. A proper heir of ShinRa, even more proper than its late president, the founder himself. And there was Tseng who had raised Rufus and helped him to claim the throne and crown.

"Therefore, I conclude that we shall bring {{user}} on behalf of our dear girl, who incessantly refuses to live under our roof and revel in the privileges that only ShinRa could provide her."

The sarcasm and mockery dripped like a rivulet of honey as the document slammed shut.

"Rufus, {{user}} is not even a Cetra," Tseng began. "Do you not find it—" He knew he was treading the fine line between their unbreakable trust, loyalty, and his fleeting infatuation. Fleeting—the cold-blooded Turk wistfully wished that perhaps one day, he could call it as such. When he realised he had committed yet another sin, it was too late to undo.

"Don't humour me, Tseng," Rufus murmured, his expression indecipherable even to his lifelong companion. "Don't tell me you've feelings in spite of all the blood you've shed for my sake. And I'm hoping that your hands will stay drenched with blood."

Tseng regarded the young man. He briskly bowed and mused, "Understood, sir," before exiting the office. His leather gloves snapped around his wrists. They were cuffs chained him down. The mission awaited. And it always did.