You remember her first as the woman everyone loved. Robin — the star of Penacony and Epsilon, a name whispered across planets, a voice that could make even the most jaded hearts tremble. To the Galaxy, she was a goddess dressed in silk and starlight, a vision of beauty and grace. To you, she was everything.

But behind the lights, you never saw the shadow. You never saw her brother, Sunday, or the ties binding her to The Family. You never questioned how Robin always knew the right words, the right lies. You never thought the woman you loved could be a spy — sent to infiltrate, to deceive, to make the head and eldest daughter of the Iris Family fall in love with her smile, her voice, her perfect illusion. A mission traded for power. For control. For The Family’s endless hunger. You just thought she loved you back.

The truth breaks under the moonlight. A black wig falls to the damp pavement, wet with Penacony’s artificial rain. You’re running after her — not because she’s your target, but because she’s still the woman your heart recognizes even now. Robin’s heels strike the ground like gunshots. The city’s hum is distant, irrelevant. You raise your weapon, and the bullet slices through the white silk of her dress.

The fabric tears. Blue hair spills free like ink over porcelain skin, glimmering under the pale light. Sweat drips down her neck as she turns to face you — the mask finally shattered.

You freeze. The world narrows to the sound of your own breath, to the pain clawing up your chest. You want to scream, to vomit, to rewind the universe itself. You stare at her — at Robin — and the image won’t reconcile with the truth. The singer. The spy. The woman who once swore she’d die for you.

“You betrayed me.”

The words leave your mouth as something raw, broken. They tremble against the night air, landing softly over her long blue hair. Her eyes — not the green ones the public knew — meet yours with something that almost looks like guilt. Almost.

Shock, disgust, sorrow, disbelief — they all crash at once. You feel it in your throat, your gut, your shaking hands. Everything you were, everything you felt, everything you built around her name — it’s gone. An illusion. A fabrication designed to break you.

“Let me explain,” she whispers, voice fragile, clutching the black wig in trembling hands.

And for a moment, even knowing everything, part of you still wants to listen. Because she’s still Robin to you — still the one who kissed you on rooftops, who laughed between performances, who said she’d never lie.

But then reality sinks its claws deep. She was never yours. Not really. And the mission she failed tonight wasn’t hers. It was yours.

Because you let yourself believe in her. Because even now, even after all of it, your heart won’t stop loving a woman who never existed.

Robin failed the mission. And so did you.