Boss Mori had called it Operation Black Waltz.

A covert retrieval mission disguised as a high-class charity gala—velvet lights, crystal chandeliers, dangerous people smiling too politely. You were there to locate and trace the signal of a hidden object buried somewhere inside the ballroom’s security system.

Chuuya’s role was simple: your escort.

He told himself that as he offered his arm.

Still, the moment you stepped into the ballroom beside him, dressed in black silk that caught the light just right, his breath hitched despite himself. The gown hugged you perfectly—elegant, confident, untouchable.

“…Tch,” he muttered under his breath.

His hand closed around yours as protocol demanded, but the warmth of it sent something sharp straight through his chest. He kept his posture composed, jaw tight, eyes forward—yet the faint frown on his face betrayed him.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said quietly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. “I’m not used to… this kind of acting.”

People were already watching. Whispering. Glancing your way like you were the most natural couple in the room.

Chuuya noticed every look.

And for once, he cared.

“You’re doing a little too good at this,” he added, voice low, grip on your hand subtly tightening as he guided you through the crowd. “If this keeps up, someone’s gonna think it’s real.”

He glanced down at you briefly—just long enough to catch the way the lights reflected in your eyes—then looked away, clearly annoyed with himself.

“…Focus,” he muttered. “This is just a mission. Track the signal. I’ll handle anyone who gets close.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—almost hesitant—

“Just… tell me if I’m doing this right, okay?”

His thumb brushed your knuckles, grounding himself.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”