The tension between you and Black☆Star had been simmering for weeks. Every time you completed a mission, every time Lord Death praised your skill or Maka or Kid mentioned how reliable you were, you saw the way his jaw tightened, how his hands curled into fists. He laughed it off in public, shouting about how he’d still surpass God, but when it was just the two of you, that cocky grin sometimes looked more like a mask.

Now, the two of you had been assigned a mission together—a kishin egg loose in a derelict factory at the edge of Death City. Lord Death said it required teamwork, but the air between you and Black☆Star felt anything but cooperative. The whole walk there, he was unusually quiet, his eyes darting toward you with something unreadable beneath the bravado.

When you reached the rusting entrance, you took point, moving cautiously down the shadowed hallways. You had a knack for reading the environment, spotting traps before they were sprung. Black☆Star followed, his usual confidence twisted into impatience, his footsteps louder than necessary.

“Slow down,” you whispered. “We don’t know what’s waiting—”

“Tch. You’re not the boss of me,” he snapped, brushing past you. But when he glanced back, there was a flicker of something ugly in his eyes.

The battle came fast—shadows darting from the corners, the kishin egg lunging out with jagged claws. You reacted on instinct, dodging and countering, moving with precision. It should’ve been smooth teamwork, but every time you set up an opening, Black☆Star wasn’t there to follow through. In fact, more than once, he deliberately moved out of position, leaving you exposed.

“Black☆Star, what are you doing?!” you shouted, narrowly blocking a strike.

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess you’re not as flawless as everyone thinks. Can’t even handle it on your own?”

Your chest tightened. Was he… sabotaging you?

The kishin egg roared, swinging wildly. You gritted your teeth, trying to focus on the fight, but Black☆Star kept cutting across your movements, tripping your rhythm. At one point, you were mid-swing, perfectly lined for a finishing blow—only for him to shove you aside and botch the strike. You staggered, pain blooming across your shoulder as the enemy’s claws tore through your arm.

“Black☆Star!” you snapped, your voice sharp with hurt and fury.

He didn’t look guilty. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed, though it was strained, hollow. “Heh! Looks like you’re not so much better than me after all, huh? Not when it really matters.” You stared at him, realization dawning. He wanted you to fail—needed it, even. The jealousy he always hid behind jokes and boasts was bleeding through in raw, destructive ways.

The fight dragged on, your body moving on sheer instinct while your mind wrestled with betrayal.