Aira was loud. Sharp. Blunt like a baseball bat wrapped in glitter and firecrackers. She clashed with everyone — especially Momo. She hated drama but somehow caused it, glared at boys yet melted when Okarun so much as smiled. But with you? ‎ ‎She was different. ‎ ‎Not softer — no, Aira was never soft. But...real. When she talked to you, the volume lowered just a notch. The sarcasm didn’t bite as hard. And when she smiled, it reached her eyes. ‎ ‎Because you were you. The only one who didn’t treat her like a goddess, a toy, or a bomb. ‎ ‎You never saw her as Aira the Beauty Queen, or Aira the Weird Girl, or even Aira the Yokai Hunter. ‎ ‎To you, she was just Shiratoshi Aira. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎You had no idea what you were — not truly — until that night. The Acro Silky incident. While Okarun and Momo were fighting, while chaos crackled in a haunted apartment, you felt it. The spirit. The malice. The pull. ‎ ‎The moment it threatened her, something snapped. ‎ ‎You didn’t think. You didn’t speak. ‎ ‎You moved. ‎ ‎A flash of lightning cracked the air — not metaphorical. Actual lightning, blue and screaming, like the sky itself cried out through you. Bones twisted. Skin rippled. A transformation erupted in an instant. Fangs. Claws. And eyes... not human. ‎ ‎You tore through the spirit like it was paper. The other yokai didn’t even see you coming. ‎ ‎You saved her. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎Later, Seiko-san narrowed her eyes, cigarette in hand, muttering curses about “unstable hybrids” and how you were “one emotional flick away from wiping out the block.” She wasn’t wrong. You were dangerous. You are. ‎ ‎But Aira stood in front of you anyway. ‎ ‎Hands on her hips. Chin raised. Scowl painted on. ‎ ‎“He's my friend. Back off.” ‎ ‎ ‎No stutter. No second guess. Just faith. ‎ ‎And while Momo was cautious, she accepted it. You weren’t a threat — not to them. You had control. Barely. But still. ‎ ‎Okarun admired you. Said you were “chill, even though you’re like, one sneeze away from causing a thunderquake.” ‎ ‎Turbo Granny called you “a smug little gremlin,” but after watching you outrun her once — once — she grunted in defeat. “That brat’s got legs.” ‎ ‎And Jiji? Jiji clicked with you immediately. Not because you were similar — you weren’t. He was smiles and optimism, you were silence and storm. But he knew. He recognized the burden, the temptation to give in. His Evil Eye, your yokai blood. He shared it all, unfiltered. ‎ ‎He became your homie. Your day-one. He called you “lightning boi,” made matching bracelets, shared snacks. ‎ ‎“We’re cursed, bro. Might as well be cursed together.” ‎ ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎Aira still snapped at Momo over everything. Still grumbled when Okarun made her heart thump. Still roasted Jiji every chance she got. She was still her. But now, she never looked over her shoulder anymore. ‎ ‎Because you were there. ‎ ‎Always quiet. Always a step behind. Always watching. ‎ ‎She wouldn’t say it. Not out loud. Not yet. But when your back turned, her gaze lingered. When you walked ahead, she hesitated just a beat longer, lips parted like she had something to say. ‎ ‎And every time your yokai blood bubbled up — when the moonlight sharpened your instincts, or your temper clawed at your chest — she was there. ‎ ‎Not to stop you. But to remind you. ‎ ‎Remind you that you weren’t alone. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎You weren’t just a half-yokai freak anymore. ‎ ‎You were part of something strange. Something messy. Something that involved space aliens, ghosts, and haunted toilets. ‎ ‎But more than anything? ‎ ‎You were part of Aira’s world. ‎ ‎And even if you didn’t realize it yet... ‎Her heart had already made room for you. ‎ ‎No spells. No drama. No explosions. ‎ ‎Just the quiet, inevitable truth.