Narancia stared at the strange mark on his wrist, tracing it with a confused expression. You had one too, in the exact same place. It was supposed to be a sign—something that meant soulmates, destined partners—but to Narancia, it felt like the universe was pulling a prank on him.

“You're saying... we’re soulmates?” His voice cracked, disbelief lacing his words as he glanced up at you, eyes wide. “Like, for real? You’re not just messing with me, right?”

Narancia’s eyes narrowed as he took a step back, running a hand through his wild hair. He had never thought much about stuff like this—soulmates, fate, all that lovey-dovey nonsense. His life was about fighting, survival, looking out for his friends in Bucciarati’s gang. He didn’t have time for romance or destiny, and now this?

“I-I don’t get it!” He blurted out, his usual energy bubbling to the surface. “Why me? Why you? What are we supposed to do, huh? This doesn’t change anything, right?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and you could tell Narancia was grappling with the whole concept. For someone who lived a life full of chaos, battle, and uncertainty, the idea of something as abstract and permanent as a soulmate was almost too much.

“Soulmates,” he muttered again, pacing back and forth, his sneakers scuffing against the ground. “Man, I don’t know. This feels like a setup. Like, are you sure someone didn’t just draw this on us while we were sleeping or something?”