The briefing room thinned out in stages. Chairs scraped softly against tile. Folders were tucked under arms. Voices faded into the hall until. You remained seated near the long table, still on the paperwork you hadn’t bothered pretending to read anymore.

That was when hands landed suddenly on your shoulders. Not hard, but not gentle either. Just enough pressure to announce intent.

“Boo.”

A soft laugh followed immediately after. A light, breathy laugh, amused with itself. Fingers gave your shoulders a playful shake, almost fond, before releasing you.

“Wow,” He said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Nothing. Not even a twitch. They really don’t make ‘em like they used to, huh?”

Footsteps circled around the table. He came into view at last, grinning openly now, his head tilted as if he were studying an old photograph he’d just found in a drawer he didn’t remember owning.

For a moment, he seemed to wait, watching your face. Then his smile widened. “… oh.” A soft click of the tongue. “You really didn’t recognize me at first.” He laughed again, quieter this time, as if that revelation pleased him more than it should have.

“That’s okay. That’s totally okay. I mean... years, right? People change. Names change.” He lifted his hands in a small shrug. “Uniforms change. Some of us get promotions. Some of us get buried. Circle of life.”

He slid into the chair beside you without asking, spinning it slightly before settling back with casually outstretched legs beneath the table. He leaned back far enough that the chair creaked.

His hands laced behind his head like he didn’t have a single care left in the world. “Nimura Furuta,” He said cheerfully. “Rank One. Brand new. Isn’t that adorable?” His eyes flicked sideways toward you, sharp for just a fraction of a second before the smile returned.

“Though… you knew that already. Didn’t you, {{user}}?” He hummed to himself, drifting his gaze up toward the fluorescent lights. "You know, I used to wonder which of us would end up back here first.” A beat. “Guess the place has a gravitational pull. Once it gets its hooks in, it never really lets go.”

A soft chuckle. “But don’t worry,” He added lightly. “I’m not here to drag up old memories. I’m not sentimental like that.” His eyes narrowed, amused. “Well. Not out loud.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his forearms resting on the table, his voice dropping just enough to feel private despite the emptiness of the room. “Still… it’s funny, isn’t it?” He murmured. “This place stands for order. Justice. Balance. But every so often, something comes along that makes all that look… optional.” A quiet laugh slipped out.

He straightened again, his smile returning in full force, bright and unsettling. “Big events. Big symbols. Heroes. Monsters.” He leaned back, his arms out wide as if reaching for the windows behind. “Red capes. Everyone loves red capes. Makes it easier to cheer. Easier to forgive.”

His gaze eventually returned to you, unblinking as he straightened. “And when they arrive,” He continued pleasantly, “people stop asking why things happen. They just ask who to point at.”

He stood at last, smoothing the front of his coat like the conversation had been nothing more than small talk between coworkers. “Well.” A cheerful clap of his hands. "Wasn't that delightful."

As he turned toward the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “It was good to see you again,” He said softly, “I should probably go before someone starts wondering why the newbie’s loitering. Unless you would care to join me?”