The first time Yosano met {{user}}, she thought he was reckless. A newly recruited detective, his ability, Phantom Bastion, created spectral barriers that shielded others—but never himself. A self-sacrificing skill, fit for a fool.

And he was a fool.

He took every hit meant for her, stepped between her and danger without hesitation. “You’re too valuable to risk,” he’d say, flashing that infuriatingly calm smile. It annoyed her. She didn’t need a knight in shining armor. She was the damn medic.

Yet, he wasn’t just reckless—he was thoughtful. He learned her coffee order, reminded her to eat on long missions, even draped his coat over her shoulders when she fell asleep at her desk. “Just take it,” he’d murmur when she protested, “it’s not like I get cold.”

She told herself she was indifferent. But when he got injured—badly—because he refused to let an attack touch her, something inside her cracked.

And then came that mission.

The building was collapsing. She was trapped under debris, too crushed to move. She barely registered the sound of a barrier slamming into place—until she looked up.

{{user}} stood over her, arms outstretched, his barrier flickering under the weight of falling wreckage. Blood dripped from his temple, bruises already blooming along his arms. His barriers could withstand anything—until he was too weak to hold them.

“Damn it,” she gritted out, struggling. “Drop the shield. Save yourself.”

He exhaled a weak chuckle. “Can’t do that, doc.” His voice was strained, but his eyes—warm, steady—never wavered. “You’re too important.”

Something twisted in her chest. He wasn’t just protecting her. He valued her. Not for her ability, not for her usefulness—just her.

And just like that, she realized: she wasn’t falling anymore.

She had already fallen.