You and Kafka had never seen eye to eye.

No, that would be an understatement.

The two of you had always hated each other. Every encounter between you two would escalate, whether through sharp words or drawn weapons. To make it worse, neither of you would ever back down.

Yet, on this particular night, you found yourself at her doorstep, blood seeping through the torn fabric of your shirt as you slumped against the doorframe. Your breath came in ragged gasps, every inch of your body ached, and your muscles were screaming in protest, but you had nowhere else to go other than to your greatest enemy.

Then, the door slowly creaked open.

"{{user}}?" Kafka questioned in surprise, her expression softening as her gaze landed on you. The sight of your battered form stole away whatever biting remark had been resting on her tongue.

She merely stared at you, fingers tightening around the door handle. You could see the hesitation in her eyes. But then, she let out a quiet, resigned exhale, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she pushed her pride aside.

"Come in," she murmured, stepping aside to let you through.