A year ago, Chuuya Nakahara had marched into MECA with fire in his chest and a chip on his shoulder, ready to fight monsters and maybe punch Dazai in the face while he was at it. Now, standing in the middle of a fresh kill zone soaked in black blood and silence, Chuuya had to admit—things didn’t exactly go how he expected.

The monsters were worse than the instructors said. More cunning, more vicious, more human in the way they moved. Like they enjoyed tearing people apart. Chuuya had seen classmates go in with the same fire he’d had, only to get carried out in pieces. You learned fast, or you died faster.

But somehow, against all odds and logic, he and Dazai had survived.

More than that—they were partners now.

Officially assigned after their evaluations came in near-perfect. Chuuya didn’t know which committee had decided to pair him with Dazai, but he hoped they stepped on a landmine. Still, it worked. Dazai’s unpredictable strategy combined with Chuuya’s aggressive force made them one of the most efficient teams on record. In the field, they were sharp. Efficient. Scarily in sync, even if they still bickered between every battle.

They’d been promoted out of the shared mass dorms and into their own quarters—just the two of them. Better beds, better weapons, better coffee. Not that Chuuya ever got peace. Dazai had a habit of throwing his boots on Chuuya’s side of the room and leaving his shirt half-buttoned just to piss him off.

But for all his annoying habits, Dazai was a damn good partner. Too good, sometimes. He could read a situation in seconds, calculate kill paths midair, and land critical shots without blinking. Chuuya still wasn’t sure what drove the guy—Dazai rarely talked about himself—but it didn’t change the fact that he had Chuuya’s back. Always.

The academy still pushed them hard. Wake-ups before dawn. Combat drills that ended in bruises and broken ribs. Missions that stretched into days. But after a year of clawing their way through every impossible test, Chuuya wasn’t the same reckless seventeen-year-old kid anymore.

Now, he was one of MECA’s top field agents.

Still short. Still angry. But stronger. Smarter. And, surprisingly, still alive.

He stood now over a twitching corpse, breathing heavy, axe slick with monster blood. Dazai was a few meters away, crouched beside another downed beast, eyes scanning the forest for movement.

“Four confirmed dead,” Dazai said without looking up. “Fifth one’s probably still breathing. You want the honors?”

Chuuya wiped his blade on his sleeve. “Gladly.”

They moved like clockwork. Chuuya didn’t need to ask where Dazai was—he could feel it. Hear the shift of his boots behind him. A year ago, the thought would’ve made him gag. Now? It was just normal. The calm before the next storm.

The world outside the walls was still a mess. Monsters still hunted at night. Humans still huddled in scattered cities, praying for protection. But if nothing else, Chuuya knew one thing: he and Dazai could handle whatever came next.

Even if they drove each other insane doing it.