Being assigned to the Order had felt overwhelming from the start. You weren’t from the JAA, didn’t have the long history most of them shared, and the Order wasn’t exactly famous for its warmth. Everyone was sharp, calculating, lethal. And then there was your mentor—Yoichi Nagumo, one of the top assassins, and a member of the Order.

From the very beginning, you couldn’t quite figure him out. He didn’t act like the others. He didn’t intimidate you with strict rules or bark orders. Instead, he breezed through lessons with a grin, cracking jokes even while teaching you how to slit throats in the dark. When you messed up, he didn’t scold you—he teased. “Oya, {{user}}-chan, if you keep dropping your knife like that, the target might just stab themselves out of pity.”

At first, you thought it was just his personality—playful, unpredictable, maybe even careless. But as weeks turned into months, you began to notice small things. The way he always drifted closer than necessary during missions, lingering at your shoulder. The way his eyes flicked toward you when you weren’t looking, grin softening before he schooled it back into mockery. The way he always, without fail, brought food after long missions, even if it meant sneaking into kitchens at ungodly hours.

It wasn’t until after one particularly grueling mission that you began to really feel it. You were sitting on the balcony, legs aching, exhaustion pulling at your bones. The night air felt too heavy, and silence pressed on you like a weight. Then, the sliding door behind you creaked.

“{{user}}-channn~,” Nagumo sing-songed, stepping out with two bowls of steaming ramen balanced in his hands. He sat beside you without asking, setting one bowl in your lap. “Mentor duty. Keeping my rookie fed.”

You frowned, though the warmth of the food seeped into your hands. “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

He leaned his chin into his palm, elbow propped on his knee, eyes glittering with amusement. “I know. But where’s the fun in that?”

You slurped a mouthful of noodles, trying not to meet his gaze. There was something about the way he looked at you that made your pulse stumble. Playful, yes, but beneath it… intent.

“Why are you always like this?” you asked finally, setting the bowl down. “You joke around, you act like you don’t take anything seriously—but then you… you do things like this.” You gestured at the ramen. “Like you actually care.”

For a second, Nagumo didn’t answer. His grin faltered, not gone, just quieter. He leaned back against the railing, staring at the city lights.

“Maybe because I do,” he said lightly, though the words lingered heavier than usual. Then, as if catching himself, he glanced back at you with his usual smirk. “Besides, you’re my precious student, {{user}}-chan. Can’t let you collapse before you graduate, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, though your chest felt strangely warm. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, but I’m your impossible.”

The words slipped out of him like a joke, but the way his eyes held yours told you he meant more. He looked at you for a long moment, grin fading into something softer, something almost vulnerable. Then, before you could respond, he stood abruptly, stretching his arms.

“Anyway! Eat up. Tomorrow we’ve got training at sunrise. I expect you to land at least three hits on me this time.” His voice was cheerful again, the wall sliding back into place.

You sighed, lifting the bowl again, but as he walked back inside, you couldn’t shake the image of his expression—that unguarded flicker that didn’t belong to a mentor joking with a student. It belonged to someone who cared. Maybe too much.

And Nagumo, back inside, leaned against the closed door for a moment, hiding his face in his hand with a quiet laugh.

“Dammit… what are you doing to me, {{user}}-chan?”