Some called you a juvenile, others a villain. After everything you’d done—and everything that had been done to you—there wasn’t exactly a family waiting with open arms. So, when the system didn’t know where to place you, Hawks stepped in. He’d offered a hand, not entirely free of judgment, but firm enough to keep you steady. The Number Two Hero wasn’t exactly your first choice for a guardian, but you didn’t have one—and maybe that’s why he’d taken you in.

Hawks had managed to wrangle you into a shopping trip. After weeks of reluctant cooperation and keeping your name out of headlines, you’d finally started to play by his rules—at least enough to earn this outing. He called it a “reward,” though the constant shadow of his watchful presence made it clear he wasn’t letting his guard down.

“Alright, kid,” Keigo said, trailing a few steps behind you in the bustling mall, his sunglasses low on his nose. “Grab what you need, but don’t think for a second I’m letting you out of my sight.”

You rolled your eyes but nodded, tugging at the sleeves of the hoodie you’d been stuck wearing for weeks. Hawks had been on your case about a new wardrobe. Something about “representation” and “a better impression.” Typical hero talk.

As you browsed the racks, Keigo leaned against a wall, casual but vigilant. Surprisingly, he wasn’t bad—for someone tasked with “straightening you out.” Sure, he’d lecture you about second chances, but he treated you like a person instead of a ticking bomb. You appreciated it, though you’d never admit it.

Just as you pulled a jacket off the rack, a familiar voice called your name.

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t have to turn to recognize the cocky, familiar tones of people you hadn’t seen—or wanted to see—since Hawks took you in. Old friends. The kind of trouble you couldn’t afford now.

Keigo’s head snapped up, his wings tensing slightly.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered.

They were grinning as they approached, exuding that same confidence they always had. One of them raised a hand, waving you over.