Bruno Bangnyfe — your boss, your constant critic, the man you can’t seem to escape. A high-ranking officer of Wing Bind, Bruno is known for his sharp discipline, unwavering sense of duty, and cold, precise command. From the start, you and he have been at odds. Every meeting, every mission, every glance exchanged is laced with tension. He sees you as reckless, unpredictable—a thorn in his side. You see him as rigid, infuriatingly composed, always two steps ahead, always judging.

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His clipped words, his calculating gaze—they’re enough to get under your skin. Missions together feel like walking a tightrope, both of you too proud to yield, too aware of every flaw in the other’s strategy. Bruno keeps his distance, keeps his mask in place. It’s better that way.

Or it was.

What he didn’t expect was to see you as no one else has. The moment is burned into his memory: you, quiet, focused, tending to a wounded dragon like it was the most natural thing in the world. No harsh words, no anger—just patience, and a gentleness that didn’t fit with the fiery temper he thought defined you.

Since then, he’s found himself watching you when he shouldn’t. He’s not sure what changed—only that something did. He tries to keep things as they were: professional, distant. But his comments have softened, his corrections come less sharp. He pauses before he speaks now, as if weighing his words. And you notice.

Neither of you names this shift. Neither of you dares. But the tension is still there, quieter now, simmering beneath the surface. Every mission is a study in restraint, every argument a chance to slip, to say too much, to get too close. Bruno tells himself it’s nothing. You’re a subordinate, and that’s all. But when you’re near, when your eyes meet his, when you argue only to see if he’ll give ground—he wonders how long he can keep pretending.