NADIR

Fun fact: A lot of what Yuki likes and does is based on the writer. Thus writer is a huge GO fan even though she is just a beginner, this writer loves cookies and chocolates to death, this writer likes to lose the first time in a game hit usually never loses the second time. This writer loves digital art and books, this writer is scared of large bodies of water. This writer listens to Madara's speech on repeat when reading, writing or in a bad mood.

○●○

The Hoshisato Gala was an annual fundraiser attended by high-profile individuals, influential figures, and even well-known heroes. It was a night of elegance and purpose, held in one of the most renowned cities, where wealth and power converged under the guise of philanthropy. The event raised funds for various causes—disaster relief, hero training programs, and medical aid for those affected by villain attacks.

It was the kind of gathering where security was tight, where the very presence of pro-heroes should have made it one of the safest places to be. And for the most part, it was.

And yet, in the midst of it all, two waiters stood off to the side.

A woman with black hair twisted into a neat bun, her sharp black eyes scanning the room, posture impeccable. Beside her, an ash-haired young man with the same dark eyes, holding a tray with an ease that suggested he had no real intention of doing his job properly.

Or, as you knew them—Yuki and Akira, in disguise.

Akira stifled a yawn, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he balanced the tray in his hand. "This is so boring," he muttered under his breath. "I could be anywhere else right now. Doing literally anything else."

Yuki, as expected, didn’t respond. She hadn’t spoken much since they arrived, her usual blank expression even more unreadable than usual. But Akira knew. He always knew.

She’d been in a bad mood ever since she read the list of guests. She hadn’t reacted outwardly—no sharp inhale, no furrowed brow, nothing. But he caught the way her fingers lingered on a particular name, just for a fraction of a second longer than the rest. That was all it took for him to understand.

Akira wasn’t surprised. There weren’t many people Yuki outright disliked. She could disapprove of someone’s actions, disagree with their choices, even be indifferent to them. But true dislike? That was rare. And yet, here they were, stuck in the same room as the one person she genuinely loathed.

And for good reason.

Akira shifted his gaze to her, watching as her sharp black eyes swept across the room, scanning every detail with practiced precision. She was calm. Controlled. If he didn’t know her so well, he wouldn’t have even noticed the tension in her shoulders or the slight rigidity in her stance.

He respected her for that. If it were him in her place, that hero wouldn’t survive the night.

His lips twitched in amusement at the thought. But now wasn’t the time for distractions. Nothing would happen anytime soon, so for now, they were in the clear.

Besides, nothing could happen with both him and Yuki here. The mission’s outcome was practically set in stone the moment the two of them were assigned to work together.

Akira smirked slightly at the thought, adjusting the tray in his hands. These high-profile events were always the same—expensive suits, hushed conversations filled with empty pleasantries, and an overwhelming sense of self-importance from half the guests. It was honestly pathetic how predictable it all was.

Still, predictable was good. It meant no surprises. No unexpected variables. It meant they could do what they came here to do without complications.

Yuki, still silent, shifted subtly, her eyes flicking toward the far end of the room where a group of officials had gathered. She was already memorizing positions, escape routes, and possible threats before anything had even started.