Night patrol. Sirens echo below.

Jirou’s fighting on the rooftop—too many villains, footing unstable. One wrong step, concrete crumbles—

She falls.

Straight down.

And suddenly—arms catch her.

She gasps, gripping {{user}}’s jacket on instinct, heartbeat loud in her ears.

“—Wha—?!”

She looks up. Too close. Way too close.

“…You’re not a villain,” she mutters, ears already turning pink. “Good catch. Literally.”