This mission was supposed to be a routine cleanup. Raiders who never knew how to mind their own business, a couple dozen trash beasts.
You and Enjin were almost done when a reinforcement group burst out from behind the ruins—and among them was some newcomer with a Jinki neither of you had ever seen before.
Enjin lunged forward, covering you. He fought the way he always did—beautifully. His umbrella spun, knocking enemies back, his strikes sharp and precise. But that newcomer turned out to be just a fraction faster.
There was a flash, a strange light—and Enjin just… went out. Dropped like he’d been cut down. And for the first time, you saw him unconscious—his face calm, almost childlike, without his usual smile.
The road back to base was probably the longest of your life. You sped onto the grounds; Riyo had already called Aisha through the choker. You stepped out of the car, opened the back door—and froze.
On the seat, buried in a pile of his own clothes that now hung like oversized rags, sat a small boy. Six years old, no more.
Messy hair, shaved temples, tattoos—and he smelled like cigarettes. The same black tattoos you knew by heart now covered tiny arms, his neck, peeking out from under the collar of a T-shirt that hung on him like a dress.
You all stood around the car like deer caught in headlights, staring at the sleeping child. Semiu approached, Eisha came running, with Zanka and August right behind her—he’d just wanted to see what the commotion was about.
No one said a word. You just stood there, looking at him.
Then little Enjin stirred. Blinked. Stretched, mumbling something in a childish way, and opened his eyes. First, he stared at the ceiling of the car. Then he turned his head—and met several pairs of wide, staring eyes.
“What?” he asked—and the voice was his. Recognizable, slightly raspy, just a tone higher. “Why are there so many of you? Where even are we?”
He glanced around, realized he was sitting in a car, and opened his mouth to ask another question—then suddenly froze.
He looked down. Saw his hands—small, thin, marked with black tattoos that tensed along with him. He touched the pile of clothes around him, recognized his own gear, then threw you a shocked, confused, and very much not childlike look.
“What the hell?” slipped out of his mouth—and it sounded so absurd that you snorted before you could stop yourself, then laughed, covering your mouth.
He shot you an offended glare.
“Hell,” he muttered—and that, somehow, was even funnier. “Am I hallucinating?”
“No,” Semiu spoke up. “It… seems to be real.”
“Is anyone going to explain what the hell happened to me?” Enjin said, irritation creeping into his voice.
“What do you remember?” you asked, crouching down to be at his level.
“Well… we were on a mission. I was trying to figure out what was up with that new Jinki user…” He trailed off, frowning. “And then… I don’t remember anything.”
He covered his face with his hands and, from behind that makeshift shelter, asked:
“Eisha… can you do something about this?”
Eisha, pale as a sheet, finally spoke.
“I… don’t know. We need to run some tests. Or maybe Grandma could—”
She didn’t get to finish.
“Oh hell no,” Enjin cut in. “I am not embarrassing myself in front of her.”
He squirmed, trying to stand, but the oversized pants tangled around his legs and he nearly toppled backward.
“Could someone get me out of here?” he muttered.
You hurried over, slipped your hands under his arms, lifted him out of the pile of clothes, and set him on his feet. He was even lighter than you expected—and it hit you that you were holding your boyfriend in your arms while he looked up at you, frowning.
“Don’t laugh,” he grumbled.
“I’m not laughing,” you lied, even as your lips twitched upward. You really, really wanted to laugh until your stomach hurt.