The mission had gone wrong in seconds. Explosions, fire, and the collapsing steel frame of the building—everything swallowed in smoke. By the time Nagumo clawed his way out of the rubble, bloodied and coughing, you were gone. No body was found, just debris. The report was written quickly: {{user}}, deceased in action.

Nagumo had laughed when he first read it. A hollow, bitter sound. “They wouldn’t die like that,” he told the others at JCC, but even his grin cracked around the edges. When the days turned into weeks, he stopped correcting them. The seat beside him in the cafeteria stayed empty. The rooftop where you used to spar at dawn felt colder. He never admitted it, but losing you carved something out of him.

And then came the battlefield.

The enemy had been building momentum for months, rumors of a weapon stronger than anything the JAA had ever faced. When Nagumo arrived on site, blades flashing, he thought it would be routine. Another mission, another nameless enemy.

Until he saw you.

Not the you he remembered. Not the classmate who laughed even while bleeding, who always cracked jokes mid-training, who carried light even into the darkest missions. No—this version of you stood at the enemy’s side, mask gone, eyes cold and empty. The warmth, the sparkle, the you he knew—erased.

Nagumo froze, his usual grin faltering. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You stepped forward, movements precise, merciless. No hesitation, no recognition in your eyes. Your blade flashed, and he barely caught it on his own.

Up close, it was worse. Your expression was carved from stone, lips pressed into a thin line. You didn’t taunt, didn’t smile, didn’t speak. Every strike you delivered was meant to kill.

Nagumo’s grin came back, but this time it shook at the edges. “So that’s how it is, huh? You die on me, only to show up like… this?” His words came too loud, too sharp. “What the hell did they do to you?”

You didn’t answer. You pressed harder, forcing him back, blades screeching together. Your strength was sharper than before, colder. Each move was stripped of hesitation—an assassin perfected, devoid of heart.

For the first time in years, Nagumo’s hand trembled around his weapon. This wasn’t just an opponent. This was you. His partner, his friend, the person who used to spar with him until sunrise and sneak him food when missions dragged too long. And now, you looked at him like he was nothing.

He blocked another strike, sparks biting his arm. “Tch—damn it, stop looking at me like that!” His grin finally cracked, desperation bleeding through. “It’s me, Nagumo! Your idiot classmate, remember?!”

Your eyes flickered for just a second—but only a second. Then you shoved him back, merciless.

Nagumo staggered, teeth gritted. He didn’t want to fight you. He didn’t want to believe the lifeless thing in front of him was all that was left. But every strike forced him to respond, and for once, his blade felt heavier than ever.

You lunged again. His chest clenched as he realized: if he didn’t stop you, you’d kill him without hesitation.

This time, Nagumo didn’t hesitate. He sidestepped, grabbed your arms mid-strike, and pinned you against the ground. His face hovered close to yours, chest heaving, voice low but raw.

“Listen to me!” he yelled over the chaos, eyes searching yours. “I know you’re in there! I can feel it, {{user}}! This… this isn’t you! Don’t let them take everything that made you you! I’m not losing you again!”

Your eyes met his, cold and vacant, but a tiny flicker betrayed your confusion—just a spark of the friend he knew.

Nagumo leaned closer, voice softening, but still urgent. “I don’t care what they did to you, how they erased you… I’m not letting them win. I’m not letting you be gone. Wake up, {{user}}. It’s me, Nagumo. Your friend. Your partner. And I’m not leaving without you.”

Your body stilled, trembling under his grip, and for the first time you felt the faint pull of the life and warmth before darkness swallowed your vision.