The gala is crowded, full of stiff suits and polished smiles. Heroes you’ve only ever seen on magazine covers are shaking hands and exchanging forced pleasantries. You hover near the back, keeping your presence low—habit, maybe.

Then you feel it. A glance. Someone watching.

You turn slightly and see him—Keigo Takami. Hawks.

He gives you a casual smile, like he does everyone else, but something shifts behind his eyes. Subtle. Confused. Like a memory he can’t quite place.

You nod politely, not expecting more.

But then he steps closer, eyes catching something on your wrist. His gaze sharpens, focused, locked.

“…Where did you get that?” he asks, his voice quieter now, less showy.

You glance down. The old charm bracelet—worn from years, but still intact. The little feather-shaped charm glints faintly under the lights.

You furrow your brow. “Why?”

Keigo lifts his sleeve. Slowly. Revealing the same charm—worn, scratched, but unmistakably the same.

Your breath catches.

No way.

You look at him again—really look. And then it hits you like a freight train. The eyes. The voice. The ridiculous hair.

“…Kei?”

He laughs—almost breathless. “Holy shit… You’re—”

“You got taller,” you interrupt, stunned.

“You got scarier,” he grins.

There’s a pause between you. Years packed into seconds. Forgotten promises, childhood games, stolen snacks, late nights whispering about becoming heroes.

And here you are.

“You disappeared,” you say softly.

“I didn’t want to,” he replies, just as soft.

You glance down at the matching charms. Still here. Still holding on.