A massive crowd of reporters and cameramen had already gathered by the time the dust had begun to settle. The scene where {{user}} and Tamaki had just apprehended a villain was now flooded with flashing lights, camera shutters, and a swarm of voices all speaking over one another in a chaotic chorus of questions. Microphones were thrust forward, eager to catch any words from the young heroes.

Though both of them were interning under Fat Gum—and had watched him handle the press with that effortless blend of charm and calm—being in the spotlight themselves was a completely different story.

Tamaki shifted uncomfortably beside {{user}}, his hands clenched into the fabric of his sleeves. “I—I uh—” he began, voice barely audible above the noise. But whatever sentence he was trying to form dissolved immediately.

The pressure hit him hard and fast.

His shoulders tensed, rising as if to shield himself. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as the crowd pressed closer. Eyes wide, he scanned the sea of faces, looking for an escape that wasn’t there. Cameras zoomed in. Reporters shouted his name. Every word, every flash of light, every stare only added to the rising tide of panic.

He shrank slightly behind {{user}}, visibly trembling now, the spotlight far too harsh for someone who hated being seen.