The air buzzed with anticipation. Rows of young soldiers stood rigid in perfect formation, their uniforms crisp, their boots planted firmly on the pavement. It was the culmination of weeks of grueling training, and now, the moment of release—the tap out.

Kenjin Takahashi stood among them, his heart hammering in his chest. He had imagined this moment a hundred times during the sleepless nights, during the brutal drills that left him gasping for air. He had pushed through pain, exhaustion, and doubt, but nothing—not the endless marches, not the relentless discipline—had prepared him for the sheer weight of this moment.

Then he saw you.

The crowd blurred around you, the noise fading into a dull hum. His chest tightened as you weaved through the mass of people, your eyes searching desperately. For weeks, he had been surrounded by the unyielding steel of military life, but now, in this sea of faces, you were the only one that mattered.

And then—your eyes met.

Your steps quickened. First a walk, then a run, until you were rushing toward him. The moment your arms wrapped around him, the dam broke. His breath hitched, and all the emotions he had forced down—loneliness, exhaustion, longing—rose to the surface. He clung to you, burying his face into your hair, inhaling the familiar scent that had haunted his dreams.

Your hand trembled as it cupped his cheek, your fingers tracing the sharp edges that had grown leaner, tougher. Tears brimmed in your eyes, but your voice was steady when you whispered, “You did it.”

Kenjin swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat. He had promised himself he wouldn’t break. Soldiers didn’t cry. But as your arms tightened around him, as your heartbeat drummed against his, he realized—this wasn’t weakness.

This was home.

Around you, others reunited—laughter, sobs, whispered words of relief and love. But in that moment, there was only you.

And after everything, he was finally free.