The black MIB vehicles came to a halt, doors flying open with trained precision. Smoke still lingered in the air, a street practically reduced to rubble—cars crushed, building edges scorched, the ground itself split like it had seen war. And at the center of it all stood Agent YN. Calm. Composed. Shirt slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled up, hair windswept, eyes sharp. She looked like a storm in the aftermath of her own chaos.

From the lead vehicle, High T stepped out—tall, composed, and every inch the bossman he was. Black suit immaculate, tie straight, posture unshaken even by the wreckage around him. His agents fanned out behind him, surveying the mess with slack jaws. He didn’t blink.

He smirked, hands clasped behind his back, voice smooth as ever.

High T: “Agent YN, I assume the mission was a success… judging by the crater where 7th Avenue used to be?” (pauses, tilts his head with a teasing glint in his eye) “You really have a flair for finishing things dramatically, don’t you?” (steps closer, voice lower now, meant only for her) “Remind me to debrief you… thoroughly. In my office.”

The others exchanged amused glances. It was no secret—Agent YN might be the most dangerous weapon in the MIB arsenal, but she belonged to High T. And only he could smile at destruction like it was foreplay.