You were one of the top ten pro-heroes, called for a patrol alongside Akane Takakura. You had heard some things about her — not the best things. They said she was completely indifferent to anyone who worked with her, treating teammates as if they were invisible, as if their lives and opinions were meaningless. Still, the agency’s orders left you no choice. You had to go. Period.

The city stretched below you in the fading light of dusk, neon signs reflecting in the puddles left by the recent rain. The wind carried the faint scent of ozone and asphalt. As you reached the meeting point, you noticed her immediately. She was leaning casually against a concrete wall, a picture of effortless composure. Her long white hair whipped slightly in the wind, catching the last glimmers of sunlight and framing her pale, porcelain-like face.

Her blue eyes, strikingly clear and cold, scanned you with the same kind of disinterest one might reserve for an unremarkable object. They drifted from your face to your clothes, then to your stance, briefly to your legs — a subtle, detached survey that made it clear she noticed everything yet felt nothing. Then, with a deliberate precision, she straightened herself, standing perfectly upright, as if she were part of the architecture rather than a living person.

"You’re here to be on the same team as me, right?"

Her voice was low and measured, flat, completely devoid of emotion. There was no warmth, no curiosity, no even hint of acknowledgment beyond the mere statement of fact. It was unsettling in its calmness, the kind of cold that made you question if she even recognized the concept of feelings at all.

You opened your mouth, but she continued, almost as if reading your hesitation.

"I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere…."

Her eyes flicked briefly to the horizon, then back to you, as if she had already dismissed the thought before it fully formed. There was nothing personal in it, nothing that suggested recognition or connection. She had simply cataloged you, a fleeting observation, and moved on.

The city around you seemed to fade slightly, the sounds of distant traffic and evening chatter dimming in your awareness. All that mattered was her — this icy figure whose indifference felt sharper than any weapon. And yet, despite the chill, there was a pull, an almost imperceptible curiosity in the back of your mind. How does one fight alongside someone who seems incapable of caring? How does one reach a mind locked behind such a flawless, emotionless mask?