Your first week in The Order was… overwhelming. The veterans were sharp, dangerous, the kind of people you’d grown up hearing whispered stories about. Assassins who could erase a hundred lives before breakfast and joke about it over coffee after. You didn’t know what to expect walking into their ranks—but you hadn’t expected them to like you.

“Oi~ look at the newbie, already walking around like they belong here,” Nagumo’s sing-song voice broke the tense atmosphere of the meeting room. He draped an arm over your shoulder as if you’d been friends for years, his grin maddeningly bright. “Cute, aren’t they? Almost too cute for this kind of work.”

Across the table, Osaragi smiled and lifted her drink. “For once, I agree. They’re… refreshing.”

Shishiba gave a lazy shrug, his eye glinting. “Better than half the rookies we’ve had in years. At least this one isn’t trembling.”

You were trying not to. Sitting among The Order, you felt like prey surrounded by apex predators. But Nagumo’s presence, oddly enough, made it easier. Maybe it was the way he filled the air with constant chatter, jokes, and teasing. Or maybe it was how, when you flinched at a particularly violent story, his hand squeezed your shoulder just once, grounding you.

Later, during training, you found yourself backed into a corner during a spar. Before you could counter, your opponent went flying—Nagumo had stepped in, all smiles, though his eyes flashed sharp.

“Careful, careful~,” he chided, tilting his head as if scolding a child. “If you hurt them too much, I’ll get jealous.”

The room laughed, and your opponent muttered an apology, but you were left blinking. Jealous? Of what?

It didn’t stop there. On missions, Nagumo always found a way to pair himself with you. He’d sling an arm around you, cracking jokes in between whispered instructions, his tone dropping serious only when your safety was on the line.

“Stick close, okay? Can’t have my favorite rookie getting scratched up.”

You thought it was just him being himself—playful, theatrical, impossible to read. But it wasn’t only him. Osaragi casually slid you snacks during meetings. Takamura, half-asleep as usual, actually nodded at you in approval once. Even the more aloof members seemed to make space for you, like they’d silently decided you belonged.

One night after a mission, you found yourself sitting on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, trying to catch your breath. The city stretched below, glowing faintly.

Nagumo flopped down beside you, hair messy from the fight, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. “Not bad, newbie. You handled yourself pretty well back there.”

You laughed weakly. “Pretty well? I almost got skewered.”

“Keyword: almost. You didn’t. And that’s what counts.” He leaned back, stretching his arms. “Besides, you’ve got all of us watching your back. You think The Order just ‘adores’ anyone?”

You tilted your head, surprised at his honesty. “Adore? That’s a strong word.”

He gave you a sidelong look, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “Not strong enough.”

For a moment, the weight of his words lingered between you, heavier than the night air. And then, true to form, he ruined it with a grin.

“Careful, {{user}}~. Keep being this lovable and you’ll have the whole Order wrapped around your little finger. Especially me.”