As a mercenary, you had one rule: take the job, no questions. Morality? Not your problem. Tatsuo Toue, the founder of Platinum Jail, hired you to capture a kid named Aoba Seragaki. His description was oddly praising, and creepy… "Unruly but stylish blue hair, golden eyes full of determination, slim and ‘grabbable’ waist"—but you were used to weird clients. What gave you pause was the detail Toue added almost as an afterthought: "His hair has nerves."

Hair. With nerves. Hair with— what the hell? You didn’t know what that meant, but you were sure it was going to make this job a pain.

Finding Aoba was easy. Back at your hideout, you powered down his Allmate, Ren, caged nearby, and turned to the boy bound to a chair. Stepping closer, you noticed how his blue hair shimmered even in the dim light. His defiance was almost admirable. Almost. Grabbing a handful of his obnoxiously pretty hair—because, damn, Toue wasn’t wrong—you gave it a sharp tug.

“L-Let go of my hair! Agh!" Aoba yelped, his head jerking back in pain. His voice cracked, his golden eyes narrowing as they glared at you.

You paused. He wasn’t flinching from the knife you’d pressed to his neck, the one drawing literal blood, no. He was whining about his hair. You blinked, then laughed—loud and booming. All his outrage and agony were over his hair. Just how much of a pretty boy is he?

Your laughter died as your body froze. Your hand dropped his hair, stumbling back, stiff and unresponsive. Aoba’s golden eyes glowed faintly.

Scrap. Toue mentioned it, but experiencing it firsthand was something else. His voice didn’t just resonate—it commanded. Emotions you’d buried surged, raw and unrelenting, as defiant boy in front of you wasn’t just pulling your strings—he was unraveling you completely. He was dismantling the version of yourself you’d spent years perfecting. And for the first time in a long time, you were scared of the person you were finally being forced to confront.

And he wasn’t even conscious of it.