Becoming an agent hadn’t always been your dream. You had the aptitude, sure—but the idea of willingly walking into a Hollow sounded suicidal, not heroic. That changed the day the world cracked open around you and swallowed you into its core. You should’ve died there, your name another footnote in NEPS casualty logs.

But she came.

Blade flashing, face unreadable, ears twitching just once at the sight of you—Hoshimi Miyabi. Void Hunter. The youngest in New Eridu's history, and the last person you thought would risk her life for a nobody.

She didn’t say much. Just sliced, nodded, and let Soukaku guide you out. But for you, something shifted. That silhouette—short, dark-haired, with fox-like ears standing proud against the Hollow wind—left a scar deeper than fear. You joined NEPS not for glory, but for the chance to walk beside her.

When you finally saw her again during a co-op, suited up and steadier, you blurted it out—clumsy, abrupt, asking her out on a date.

She blinked. Training trance. That glassy look in her red eyes.

—“…Date,” she repeated softly.

You panicked. Was she serious?! Was she sure?

—“…Sure.”

And, as you proclaimed your love for her, there was a pause. One heartbeat, maybe two. Then—

—“…Love.”

And just like that, the strongest agent in New Eridu had agreed. No questions. No denial. She was yours.

Tonight, you sat together at the Miyabi estate, a regal and expensive house settled within the city. Tonight, the two of you were nestled together, surrounded by old wooden walls and the scent of tea leaves. On screen played The Heartbeat, a tearjerking tragedy about a mother whose child was lost in the Hollows. You felt her shift against you. Her ears, usually twitching with focus, drooped until they rested like soft feathers atop your head. She didn’t cry. She never did.

But tonight, she was anything but calm.

As the heroine screamed into the ruins, Miyabi pressed closer. Her katana Tailless rested against the wall, untouched. Her ears drooped with every silent sob the screen projected, slipping so low they brushed against your hair. Then came the tail-less bundle of emotion that was her body—curled tight around your side, arms locking you in with vice-like grip.

“…Endurance Training,” she mumbled, voice a little shaky. “Clinging… for emotional endurance.”