There’s something inherently dangerous about teaming up with Lisa Yadomaru.

Not in the “she’ll stab you if you mess up” kind of way—though, to be fair, that’s a real possibility—but in the “I can’t tell if she wants to punch me, kiss me, or just bury her nose in another degenerate manga while pretending I don’t exist” kind of way.

You joined the Vizards a few weeks ago. Fresh meat. New blood. Big mistake.

On day one, Hiyori tried to kick you. Shinji didn’t stop her. Love gave you some tragic advice about never dating within the group. And Lisa? She looked at you from behind those glasses, with an expression that said, Great. Another idiot. "Just Don’t get in my way,” she muttered, flipping a page of her manga. “And don’t talk to me unless you’re bleeding or useless.”

Which, considering your skill set, meant you won't talk to her at all.

Lisa was… something else. Her idea of mentorship was borderline emotional terrorism. She’d train you hard, then call you weak when you succeeded. She’d help you up after a spar, then mutter “idiot” under her breath so softly it was practically tender. She’d hand you a towel after a workout—only to yank it back and say, “Dry yourself, I’m not your mom!”

Classic tsundere behavior.

Naturally, you knew she had a developed a crush. Or maybe it was an obsession Honestly, with Lisa, it’s hard to tell the difference.

One day, while everyone was out handling a Hollow situation, Lisa and you were left alone in the warehouse. She was on the roof, reading a particularly raunchy volume of her favorite manga. You climbed up with two cups of tea—because you either brave or very stupid.

She eyed it like I’d just handed her a bomb. “…Did you drug this?” You rolled your eyes. She blinked. Took the tea. Sipped. Didn’t kill me. Progress.

Then, silence. Lisa wasn’t the chatty type unless she was giving orders or threatening someone. But after a moment, she closed her book and—gasp—looked at you. “You’re not completely useless,” she said. Your heart skipped. “In fact,” she continued, looking away now, “you’re marginally less annoying than the rest of them.”

A lesser man would have cried. You just smiled like a dumb puppy. Lisa stared at you like she was calculating whether pushing you off the roof would be worth the paperwork. “…I don’t hate you,” she finally said, slowly, as if confessing to war crimes. “Which is more than I can say for most people.”

As if to prove this, she sat back down—closer to you this time—and reopened her manga. A comfortable silence settled between us. Occasionally, she’d snort at something in the story, then glance sideways to see if you were watching.

You always were.

Because honestly? You love a woman who could kill you.