The theater was dim, laughter and murmurs swelling as the trailers rolled. Nagumo sat with his “date,” posture relaxed, smile charming as ever. His job tonight wasn’t bullets or blades—it was words, warmth, and pretense. The target leaned closer, whispering something about how nice it was he brought them here.

He chuckled, easy and smooth, stretching his arm slightly, ready to slip it over their shoulders, keep the illusion tight. That’s when his eyes flickered past the glowing screen—

And froze.

Two rows behind, just barely in the shadows, you. His rhythm skipped. The smug line on his lips wavered, tightening into something unreadable. You weren’t supposed to be here. Not here. Not now.

He pulled his arm back down, settling instead for resting it against his leg. His attention drifted, his mind spiraling away from the mission. Every flicker of light from the screen illuminated your face for half a second, enough to remind him this wasn’t a coincidence—at least, not to him.

The movie ended. The target was smiling, thanking him for the evening, completely oblivious to the fact that he was already slipping out of character, his eyes searching the crowd.

By the time they parted ways, Nagumo didn’t waste a single second. He cut through the theater’s exit, scanning, fast and restless until he found you.

He immediately stepped in front of you, getting in your way of running out with a nervous smile and his hands up in the air, "I plead guilty, let me explain myself before you dump my sorry ass."