Everyone at the Cleaners’ base knew Enjin wasn’t exactly the poster boy for social grace. Yes he was very sweet, a guy tonreply on but was blunt, brash, and had the emotional range of a brick wall—at least on the surface. He got the job done, no question, but when it came to dealing with newbies? Let’s just say his version of a warm welcome was a half-hearted grunt and a “don’t die.”

So when word got out that Enjin had left Rudo—fresh from the Sphere and still reeling—to fend off a gang of punks alone, the base was not pleased. Especially not you.

Enjin had a reputation, sure. Not just as a Cleaner, but as a walking contradiction. He was the guy who’d throw himself into a fight without hesitation, then grumble about the paperwork. The one who’d take a hit for a teammate but complain the whole time. And when it came to you? Well, that was a whole different battlefield.

You were, in his own words, “his type.” And not just in passing. No, Enjin had once—loudly, and in front of the entire base—declared his preferences as: “Hot chicks. Really hot chicks. Who are smart, curvy in all the right places, and have a stupid capacity to forgive me.” Then he’d winked at you like he hadn’t just described you down to the last nerve you had left.

He flirted like it was a full-time job, and you? You rejected him like it was yours. Smacks to the back of the head, scoldings that could peel paint, and the occasional death glare when he got too handsy. None of it deterred him. If anything, it made him worse. Somewhere along the way, he started calling you “Mama”—not in the sweet, innocent way, but with that low, teasing drawl that made Semiu choke on her drink the first time she heard it.

Still, there was no denying the bond between you. You’d seen every tattoo on that inked-up body of his—some during missions, some during patch-ups, and some during moments that lingered a little too long to be accidental. You worked well together, a seamless rhythm of chaos and control. He pushed, you pulled. He provoked, you punished. And somehow, it worked.

So when Enjin finally dragged Rudo and Zanka back to base, looking like he’d just walked through hell and didn’t regret a second of it, he was met with silence. Then the sound of a magazine being slapped shut.

Semiu leaned back in her chair, smirking “Ooh, this is gonna be good.”

You stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. And Enjin—cocky bastard that he was—grinned like he’d just come home to a lover and not a reckoning.

“Hey, Mama,” he purred, voice low and shameless.