Shota sat in the shadows of the hideout, his eyes distant as he absentmindedly twirled his capture scarf between his fingers. The chaotic noise of the League’s activities went unnoticed; his thoughts were elsewhere, stuck on the memory of loud, energetic laughs and an ever-present voice that could fill any silence. Hizashi. He hadn’t seen him in months, not since fully committing to the League. Shota would never admit it out loud, but he missed him—missed the one person who could cut through his cold, detached exterior.

A teammate, noticing his unusual quietness, sat down beside him. they asked if he was okay, their voice softer than usual. Shota didn’t respond at first, only shifting slightly to acknowledge their presence.

Shota let out a low sigh, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "It’s nothing," he muttered, but the weight behind his words said otherwise. Either way, he fidgeted and adjusted his capture weapon again, almost as if it was irritating him suddenly