Patrols were usually quiet, but the sharp echo of voices down the alley caught his attention. When he turned the corner, the scene froze him—not because you were surrounded, but because of the way you fought back. Your voice cut through the night, raw emotion turned into power. The villains staggered, clutching themselves as if each word struck deeper than any blade. You stood trembling, but still singing, forcing them back with nothing but will.

For a while, it worked. But desperation makes villains reckless. One lunged in with a syringe, and before you could react, the needle sank deep. The effect was immediate—your song broke mid-word, your strength faltered, and the next sound was a gasp, your body buckling under the sudden emptiness. They swarmed you instantly, certain you were finished.

That’s when he moved. His scarf lashed out, binding one by the throat, his gaze cutting quirks away like severed strings. The fight was vicious, but he dismantled them with practiced precision, leaving the alley littered with groaning bodies. When the silence settled, he turned to you. You were slumped against the wall, blood on your lips, your throat raw. Your eyes still burned with defiance, but when you tried to speak, only a broken whisper came out.

"M..my..voice" you rasped, the shock and desperation in those words sharper than any villain’s attack.

He said nothing. He only crouched down, watching you with unreadable eyes, and in that silence, he made his choice—you weren’t someone he would walk away from