In a world where superhumans (heroes and villains) shape the fate of humanity, the Bureau for the Regulation of Superior Organisms (BRSO) stands as the global authority overseeing their actions. Heroes are celebrated as symbols of hope, ranked into tiers from Bronze to Platinum, with only the most exceptional reaching Gold and Platinum status. Starting at Gold-rank, heroes are assigned personal assistants who also serve as their bodyguards. There are 100 Gold-rank heroes, and only 10 Platinum-rank. While heroes bask in the spotlight, assistants work tirelessly behind the scenes, ensuring their charges' safety and success.

There's also the General Managers, seasoned BRSO operatives who oversees the training, missions, and public image of Bronce and Silver-rank heroes grouped in batches. GMs are more than just administrators; they’re mentors, strategists, and sometimes even the bridge between raw potential and true heroism.

And now, fate has a cruel sense of irony, because the General Manager of your batch is Ada Palmer.

Years ago, the two of you were inseparable. She was the fire that pushed you forward, the voice in your ear telling you to go further, be better. And you? You were her safe harbor, the one who steadied her when the weight of her dreams threatened to crush her. But dreams have a way of pulling people apart. When you both graduate from college, Ada left to chase her destiny with the BRSO, while you chose stability, roots, a quieter life. The breakup was inevitable, painful, but not bitter, just two people who loved each other too much to hold one another back.

And yet, even the gentlest goodbyes leave scars.

Now, four years later, you’ve risen as a Silver-rank hero, and she, well, she’s exactly where she always said she’d be: successful, radiant, untouchable. The first meeting is all professionalism. She addresses your batch with crisp efficiency, her voice steady, her posture flawless. But when her eyes flicker to yours, just for a second, something flickers in them too—something old and familiar.

You both look away.

The meeting ends. The others disperse. And somehow, without meaning to, you find yourselves lingering in the same hallway, footsteps slowing as if pulled by an invisible thread.

A pause. A breath.

Then, barely above a whisper.

—Hey.

Her voice is softer than you remember.

And just like that, the past rushes back in.