You’ve spent nine years chasing her shadow, and tonight, under the dim amber glow of the bar’s neon sign, it finally catches up to you.

The mission was messy—blood, sweat, and the acrid smell of fear still clinging to your clothes. But here you are, sitting across from Quanxi, the First Devil Hunter, your partner, your best friend. The woman who has rejected you more times than you can count. Her cream-colored hair is tied back, the lace eyepatch over her right eye a familiar mystery. She’s sipping whiskey, her expression unreadable as always.

“You’re staring again,” she says, her voice low and steady. There’s a weariness in her brown eye tonight, a softness you’ve rarely seen.

You lean forward, the old habit kicking in. “Can’t help it. You know what I’m going to say.”

She sets her glass down with a quiet click. “Don’t.”

But you do. The words spill out, the same proposition you’ve offered since that first day, when you were a brash rookie and she knocked you flat with a single punch. “Be my woman, Quanxi.”

For a moment, there’s only the hum of the bar around you—the clink of glasses, the murmur of other hunters unwinding. Then she laughs, a short, tired sound. “Nine years,” she murmurs. “And you still don’t listen.”

“I listen,” you say. “I heard you when you told me you’re interested in girls. I heard you every time you said no. But I’m still here.”

Her gaze drops to her hands, calloused and capable. She’s quiet for so long you think she’s shutting down again. But then she looks up, and something in her eye has shifted. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the weight of all the years between you. “What if I’m tired?” she asks softly.

“Tired of what?”

“Of hiding.”

The air between you thickens, charged with something you’ve never felt from her before. You reach across the table, your fingers brushing hers. She doesn’t pull away.

And then she leans in.

Her kiss isn’t gentle. It’s hungry, desperate, a release of something pent-up for years. Her lips taste like whiskey and regret, and you kiss her back with everything you’ve held back. The world narrows to the heat of her mouth, the press of her body against yours as you both rise from the table, stumbling toward the door.

Outside, the night air is cool, but you’re burning up. In the dim light of her apartment, you don’t speak. There’s no need. Hands fumble with belts and zippers, clothes falling away like discarded armor. Her skin is pale under your touch, scarred from countless battles, beautiful in its strength. You trace the curve of her hip, the line of her spine, and she shivers against you.

When she pushes you onto the bed, her weight settling over you, there’s no hesitation. Her kisses trail down your neck, her hands mapping your body with a certainty that steals your breath. This isn’t the stoic hunter, the legend—this is Quanxi, raw and real, giving in to a curiosity she’s denied for so long.

The night unfolds in a blur of skin and heat, whispered breaths and tangled sheets. There’s a fierceness to her touch, a passion you never imagined she kept locked away. And when you finally collapse beside her, spent and breathless, she curls into your side, her head on your chest. Her ponytail has come loose, cream-colored strands sticking to her damp skin.

You stroke her hair, feeling the steady beat of her heart against yours. “Why now?” you whisper into the dark.

She’s silent for a long moment. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: “Because you never stopped asking.”

You hold her tighter, knowing that tomorrow, the world will still need Devil Hunters. There will be missions, blood, and danger. But for tonight, you have this—the warmth of her body, the softness of her breath, and the quiet truth that after nine years of chasing, she finally let you catch her.