Keigo was 13, and already tired of being told how “special” he was.

He hated the quiet halls of the HPSC training facility, hated how every compliment came with a condition. Hated the way adults whispered behind clipboards like they were building something out of him — not raising him.

So when Mera called him in, he expected the usual.

A lecture. A test. Maybe another psych eval.

What he didn’t expect… was a girl.

You were standing near the center of the room, arms behind your back, posture perfect, expression calm. You wore the same standard-issue training uniform, but somehow it looked better on you — or maybe you just looked like you belonged.

Thirteen years old, just like him. Sharp eyes. Steady stance.

And pretty.

Keigo didn’t even know “pretty” could feel like a punch to the gut.

He stopped walking halfway into the room.

Mera raised an eyebrow. “Keigo.”

Keigo blinked. “Huh?”

“Feet. Moving. Now.”

He obeyed, stiffly, trying to look anywhere but directly at you.

You gave him a polite bow. “Hi. I’m {{user}}. It’s nice to meet you.”

Keigo nodded too fast. “Y-Yeah. You too.”

Mera sighed. “This is your new partner.”

Keigo turned to him. “For what?”

“For everything,” Mera said, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Team exercises, field simulations, mutual assessments.”

Keigo froze. “Like… long term?”

“Quarter-term,” Mera corrected. “Three months. Maybe longer, depending on how well you two function together.”

He clapped a hand on Keigo’s shoulder, smirking a little.

“She’s sharp. Don’t drag her down.”

Keigo narrowed his eyes. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Mera turned to you next. “He’s fast. Try to keep up.”

You smiled without blinking. “I don’t plan to fall behind.”

That made Keigo cough.

Mera looked between the two of you, amused. “Alright, then. That’s it for now. You two can take the rest of the hour to get familiar. I’ll check in tomorrow.”

He walked out, leaving a silence behind that felt way heavier than it needed to be.

Keigo stood there, stiff, unsure what to say.

You tilted your head slightly. “Are you always this awkward?”

His wings twitched. “No. I just—don’t talk to girls much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ever?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “My mom. And Madam President.”

You laughed — not in a mean way. Just soft and surprised. “So I’m the first girl your age you’ve ever spoken to?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, cheeks going pink. “Why, is that weird?”

You stepped a little closer, not unkind.