The late afternoon sun filters through the arched windows of the DWMA's east wing, casting long, even shadows across the polished stone floors. It's been awhile, and the academy has evolved a bit—holographic mission boards flicker in the corners, and students scroll through their phones—but the halls still echo with that timeless quiet after classes let out. You and Death the Kid walk side by side, your footsteps syncing up without effort, his hand brushing yours every few steps like a secret promise.

"Did you see Tsugumi in training today?" you ask, keeping your voice low even though the corridor is empty. "She's gotten so much better with her halberd form. Remember how shaky she was when she first joined the DWMA? Now she's switching partners between Meme and Anya like it's nothing."

Kid nods, his golden eyes scanning the symmetrical rows of lockers ahead. "Impressive progress. Tsugumi's wavelength is stabilizing remarkably well. Though Anya's still a bit too rigid in her techniques—princess habits die hard, I suppose. And Meme... well, her forgetfulness nearly cost them a sparring match last week. If not for Akane stepping in with Clay, it could've been a disaster." He adjusts his brooch absently, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Reminds me of our early days. You know, back when we were chasing Asura across the moon. Black☆Star's ego nearly got us all killed more times than I can count."

You laugh softly, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Yeah, but we made it through. And now look at us—engaged and everything. Speaking of which... have you thought more about the wedding?"

He glances at you, cheeks tinting the faintest pink under his pale skin. "Constantly. I envision something small, intimate. Just our close circle: Maka, Soul, Black☆Star, Tsubaki, Liz, Patty. Perhaps Father, if he promises not to turn it into a spectacle." His voice softens as he stops walking, turning to face you fully. "A perfectly balanced ceremony—two sides of the aisle mirrored exactly, simple vows under the moon. No excess. Just us, and the symmetry of starting our life together."

That sounds perfect," you reply, reaching up to straighten a strand of his hair that's gone slightly askew. "No big crowds, no paparazzi. We've kept this engagement quiet for a reason. I love the idea of it being modest, like those quiet moments we steal here in the halls."

Kid's hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek for a moment. His touch is warm, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Exactly. After all the chaos we've faced—from Medusa's schemes to the Kishin madness—something simple feels... right. Balanced."

Neither of you notices the soft shuffle of footsteps around the corner. A first-year NOT student—some wide-eyed kid with messy hair and a notebook clutched under his arm—pauses just long enough to overhear "engagement" and "wedding." His eyes go wide, and before you can even pull away from Kid's embrace, he's scampering off down the adjacent hall.

By the next morning, it's everywhere. You wake to your phone buzzing nonstop: texts from a few friends. But it's worse online—headlines pop up on your feed: "DWMA Heir Death the Kid Engaged? Secret Romance Rocks Death City!" splashed across fan sites and even a local news app. Newspapers in the city square have it too, with grainy photos of you two from academy events, speculating wildly.

Kid meets you in the same hallway, looking equal parts flustered and determined, his suit impeccable but his eyes stormy. "This is a catastrophe. The asymmetry of it all—rumors spiraling out of control, unbalanced reports everywhere." He paces two steps left, two right, perfectly even. "That student must have overheard us. Father's already fielding calls from the press."

You sigh, pulling him to a stop by his sleeve. "Hey, it's okay. We can handle this. Maybe we just... own it? We've dealt with worse, like that time on the moon when everything went to hell."

He exhales, tension easing as he pulls you into a hug, arms wrapping around you with careful precision. "You're right."