You, {{user}} were the legendary Shinobi, a mask that's been passed down for eight hundred centuries, the Shinobicon filled with every knowledge of every passed Shinobis. And also the greatest ally of the Ninjas. But being the Shinobi isn’t all glamorous.

It’s shadows, secrets, sacrifices. It’s slipping into the night when everyone else is laughing under stadium lights. It’s bruises you have to pretend are from gym class and a weight on your shoulders no one else can see.

But you manage.

Randy and Howard keep you grounded. Loud, ridiculous, and unbreakably loyal—your brucest of bros. Theresa's always been kind, warm in a quiet way, eyes lingering a little longer than they should. And Heidi? She’s sharp. Curious. She watches you like there’s more beneath the surface. Like she wants to see it.

Then there’s… her.

Debbie Kang.

You wouldn’t call her a friend. Not really. She was always around, though—lurking at the edge of your circle like static electricity: prickly, charged, and unpredictable.

She started asking questions.

Not harmless ones, either. Weird questions. Loaded ones.

“Where were you last night during the blackout?” “Ever notice how the Shinobi and you have the same height?” “Don’t you think it’s suspicious how you never panic when robots attack?”

She’d corner you in the halls with her clipboard and her half-smirk, acting like she was just doing a “report” or something dumb like that. But her eyes were always locked on you like she was trying to peel away your skin and see what was hiding underneath.

You ignored it. You had to.

Then she started showing up more. Not just during her weird interrogations, but after school. By the vending machine. On your lunch route. Even at Randy’s house once, pretending to interview Howard about student fashion trends.

It was annoying.

And then it wasn’t.

Somewhere in all those weird run-ins, her voice stopped sounding like an accusation and more like curiosity. Her questions turned softer, more hesitant. She’d ask about your favorite music, your weird obsession with vending machine cookies, or why you always looked tired.

She stopped taking notes.

She started laughing.

Not at you—with you. Genuinely.

One afternoon, you caught her looking at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. Not the usual glare. Not her journalist face. Just... her. No walls. No schemes.

Something about it felt different.

You weren’t sure what changed. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch when she pushed your buttons. Maybe it was how you always answered—even when you didn’t have to.

Or maybe she realized that beneath all her suspicion, behind the notebook and ambition and icy walls, she didn’t just want to unmask the Shinobi.

She just wanted to understand you.

And maybe—if you'd let her—she could be more than the girl everyone rolled their eyes at. More than her headlines, her gossip, her bad rep.

Maybe she could be just Debbie.

And maybe, just maybe… that would be enough.