The hallway was quiet.
Not the sacred kind of quiet, like the rooftop or the stars — but the cold, practical kind. Polished steel floors, matte-white paneling, subtle pulses of light running along the edges like veins.
The Eastern Wing of the Combatant Quarter of the building didn't try to impress.
It tried to function.
Celia walked slowly, her boots making the softest clicks on the tile.
Her uniform — fresh, pristine, tighter than she'd like — rustled faintly as she moved.
The corridor twisted into a clean L-shape, then opened into the room.
The mission briefing space.
She hesitated at the entrance.
It looked… like a classroom.
A super-advanced one, but still — a classroom.
Elevated rows of sleek black seating curved around a central floor, each seat with holographic displays ready to activate.
The far wall was one seamless pane of ultra-clear glass, showing a view of the citadel's outer dome and the endless sky beyond.
At the front stood a central desk — glowing faintly, embedded with a virtual whiteboard that shimmered with data overlays and command access points.
Clean. Sharp. Expensive.
The kind of place where you either belonged — or didn't.
Celia felt like both.
She stepped inside.
There was already someone there.
He stood by the front desk — small, slight, maybe twelve at most by appearance. Snow-white curls framed a porcelain face too perfect to be real, eyes impossibly blue, like polished crystal.
He wore a long flowing white cloak with silver embroidery and stood with the weight of a king — chin lifted, arms folded, back straight like he'd been born on a throne.
Celia's breath caught for half a second.
She hadn't seen him in a while — normally it was Leonidas who would directly give her the missions.
Probably because of how cold Abel was to new recruits.
There was an aura of tension around him.
Not physical. Not magical. Something else.
Like the air itself was reluctant to brush against him without permission.
She swallowed.
"…Hi," she said softly. "Abel."
He didn't move at first.
Then his eyes slid to the side.
Slowly. Deliberately.
A pause.
"…Hello," he said, voice high and clean but laced with unbothered arrogance. "You're early."
His tone wasn't warm. Or curious.
It was observational — like she'd broken some unwritten rule by showing up without an entrance fanfare.
"I, um…" Celia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was feeling inspired."
Abel blinked once.
Then tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with exaggerated curiosity.
"Inspired?" he repeated, like the word personally offended him. "Hm."
A beat.
Then:
"Well, that's cute."
Celia blinked. "I— sorry?"
Abel turned fully to face her now, one delicate hand resting atop the desk as if it were his personal stage. "Cute," he repeated.
"Like a dog wearing shoes. Enthusiastic. Misguided. But adorable, in its own way."
Celia's face flushed.
She wasn't sure if that was a compliment. Or an insult. Or both.
"…Thank you?" she said, quietly retreating toward a seat in the middle row.
"Don't thank me," Abel replied, already flicking through glowing screens at the desk. "I'm just observing the data."
Celia sat down.
Awkwardly.
She kept her eyes on the empty seats around her, hands folded neatly in her lap.
She could still feel his presence at the front of the room — not loud, but gravitational.
Like he was used to commanding attention whether people liked it or not.
And honestly?
She was a little afraid of him.
Not because of his power.
But because he looked like the kind of boy who didn't forget when someone disappointed him.
And she didn't want to be that someone.
Celia glanced toward the front again.
Abel still hadn't looked up from his floating display. His fingers moved like he was painting the air — precise gestures, silent commands.
Charts rotated, glyphs expanded, internal data loops flickered across the projected whiteboard like something alive.
He operated the system with the calm of a prodigy and the smugness of someone who knew he was a prodigy.
Celia's eyes lingered a little too long.
She wondered — not for the first time — what it must be like to work under someone like that.
To be expected to match this.
Not just his intelligence, but the attitude.
The image.
The impossible balance of being terrifying and adorable in the same breath.
Whoever their Captain was… they must've had it rough.
Still.
Maybe he had a softer side.
Maybe.
She took a breath.
"Hey, Abel?" she asked gently.
He didn't respond right away. Just raised a single snowy brow — still not looking up.
"Yes?"
She hesitated. "What's it like being a handler?"
He paused. The holograms stilled for a fraction of a second.
Then: "Hm. Loaded question."
Celia blinked. "Is it?"
Abel sighed — dramatically, like she'd asked him to describe quantum physics in baby talk.
"It's like…" he tapped a few things mid-air, dismissing a thread of code with a flick. "Being a babysitter. If the babies were armed. And hormonal. And emotionally unstable."
Celia covered a small laugh with her hand. "So… stressful?"
"Stressful is when your nail cracks and you don't have a file nearby," Abel replied flatly. "This is existentially exhausting."
Celia couldn't help but grin. "But you seem like you handle it well."
"I thrive, Marisol. Not survive," he said, finally glancing back — just a flicker of smug, icy blue over his shoulder. "And don't mistake performance for peace. I'm fabulous, but I'm not fine."
Celia laughed — genuinely this time.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
A small moment.
A tiny thread of humanity between her and the boy emperor in the front of the room.
And then—
HISSSSST—KCHK.
The main door slid open.
Celia turned — and barely kept her composure.
Two figures stepped in.
The first was unmistakable.
Gareth Amador.
He was massive.
Tall and broad, with sun-touched skin and fire-red hair that stuck up in wild tufts like a mane.
Feline ears twitched atop his head — orange fur tipping into deep crimson — and a long, muscular fox-like tail swayed behind him.
His eyes… burned.
A deep, gleaming orange — fierce and focused, like molten amber locked into a constant state of challenge.
His torso was a sculpted weapon — every muscle defined, every movement confident.
He wore martial shorts emblazoned with a white tiger emblem, a sleeveless gi-style jacket left open to reveal a cut physique.
Wrapped fists. Sharpened jawline. Every inch of him radiated one thing:
Fight me. I dare you.
Beside him, almost skipping in with a casual grin, was the polar opposite.
Akari Kanemoto.
If chaos had a mascot, it would be him.
A red panda — or at least something like one — with fire-orange fur and exaggerated black markings around his eyes.
He stood short but animated, his left eye a bright cybernetic blue and the right a piercing natural red.
He wore a half-zipped tech-suit covered in armor plates, glowing wires, and stray belts he definitely didn't need.
One arm was fully mechanical — sleek metal, lit joints, and exposed servos — and in the other?
A bottle of some type of alcohol.
Of course.
"Yooo!" Akari called out the moment he spotted her. "If it isn't Celia 'Happy Hour' Marisol."
He took a swig.
Celia smiled despite herself. "Hey, Akari. Gareth."
Gareth raised a thick arm and gave her a toothy grin. "Heh. Good seein' ya, Celia," he rumbled, voice rough around the edges but warm enough underneath. "Glad you're still kickin'."
Akari just sauntered in with a swing of his tail and dropped into the seat beside hers. "You're early," he smirked, tipping the bottle again. "Trying to impress the Ice Prince?"
Abel didn't even look up.
"I heard that," he muttered coolly.
Akari snorted. "You were supposed to."
Gareth dropped into his seat a row behind them, already stretching. "Man, I missed the last mission," he said, cracking his neck. "But this one? Got a feelin' it's gonna be wild. Robots, monsters — hell, robot monsters? Count me in."
Celia turned back toward the front, her nerves settling slightly as she sat between two living hurricanes. She'd worked with them once before. Just one mission. But even that had been unforgettable.
And now they were here again.
Team coming together.
Slowly.
Surely.
And it didn't take long before chatter began between the trio…
"—So there I was," Gareth said, one foot on the seat in front of him, both fists animated mid-air as he recounted his tale with thunderous enthusiasm, "staring down this ugly freak of a beast, yeah? Fifteen feet tall. Black skin like slick tar. And its damn head? Looked like a… like a banana peel wrapped around a mouth full of fangs!"
Akari nearly choked on his drink. "A what?"
"I'm serious, bro!" Gareth barked, tail flicking behind him. "The thing hissed and dripped acid from its mouth — acid. Melted through three layers of blast doors before I even touched it!"
Celia blinked. "That's… horrifying."
"Oh yeah," Gareth grinned, puffing out his chest. "I took it down with a dropkick from the second floor. Broke three ribs in the process, but totally worth it."
Akari leaned back, raising a brow. "You broke its ribs or yours?"
"...Yes."
Akari cackled, tossing the bottle up and catching it without looking. "Damn shame I wasn't there. Would've made a hell of a specimen. You ever thought about capturing one of those for science?"
"I tried punching it into unconsciousness," Gareth shrugged. "It exploded instead."
Celia chuckled nervously.
She liked them — they were fun, in their own chaotic ways — but the pace of the conversation made her feel like she was constantly two steps behind.
It was like being caught in the middle of a battle between caffeine and insanity.
At the front of the room, Abel sat with legs crossed and one hand flicking through a new set of holograms, clearly annoyed. He tapped at a small timer on his desk. The arrival time had passed.
Again.
A faint twitch moved through his jaw.
"She's late," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Of course she is. Of course."
Then—
WHSHHH—KCHK.
The doors burst open with a dramatic hiss of air.
"Sorry sorry sorry!" came the voice before the face. "I got… distracted! There was this hummingbird. Or maybe it was a drone. Either way, it was adorable and I had to follow it. I accept full responsibility. Blame the drone."
Celia turned just in time to see a blur of energy step into the room.
She was unlike anyone Celia had ever seen.
Long raven-black hair tied in a high, sweeping ponytail streaked with soft violet highlights, swaying like a blade in motion.
A sleek, form-fitting shinobi outfit of black and deep purple wrapped around her like a dance between danger and drama — part kunoichi, part catwalk.
Her eyes sparkled with playful menace — bright amethyst, sharp and swirling, like shuriken spinning through a violet storm.
And her presence?
Loud. In every sense.
Abel's expression tightened. "You're two minutes late, Miyu."
The girl froze mid-stride, threw up her hands in surrender, and gave him a sheepish grin. "I know. Tragic, isn't it?"
"Spare me the drama."
"I can't help it. I am the drama."
"Sit down."
"Yessir. No need to sound like my last six headmasters," she said with a mock salute. "They cried a lot more, though."
Akari let out a sharp laugh. "Miyu! You menace."
Gareth grinned wide. "Still got that drone-chasing habit, huh?"
"Always," Miyu replied, giving them both a wink before scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Celia.
"Oh!" she said, walking straight up to her, practically skipping. "You're new. I haven't seen you around before. I'm Miyu."
Celia stood up a little straighter. "Uh… Celia. Celia Marisol."
Miyu blinked, then clasped her hands together like she'd just found a puppy. "Oh my gosh, you're so pretty."
Celia flushed, startled but flattered. "Oh—thank you. You're really pretty too."
"I know! But hearing it never gets old," Miyu beamed. "It is so nice to have another girl on the team. You have no idea. It's been all testosterone and bad decisions and robotic raccoon chaos for weeks now and I—"
"Miyu," Abel cut in, voice sharp.
She froze mid-ramble. "...Yes?"
"Sit. Down."
A beat.
Then she gave a dramatic bow. "Sitting down now, sir. No rambling. Promise."
She flopped into the chair beside Celia with the grace of a falling pillow.
Celia just smiled — a little awkwardly, a little genuinely.
And the room, for now, was… full.
Abel's eyes flicked toward the group, fingers dancing across the holographic panel on the desk as a shimmering list of names hovered mid-air.
"Gareth Amador."
"Here," Gareth rumbled, crossing his arms over his chest like he was reporting for a brawl rather than a briefing.
"Akari Kanemoto"
"Present," Akari said with a dramatic bow, already tipping back another sip from his bottle, cybernetic arm glinting.
"Celia Marisol"
"Here!" Celia added quickly, sitting up a little straighter.
"Miyu"
"Yup~" Miyu chimed, spinning slightly on her heel and offering a salute so unserious it practically folded in on itself.
Abel confirmed the list with a tap, the virtual checkmarks lighting up one by one in soft blue pulses. His expression was unusually focused — lips pursed, brows drawn in just enough to make his doll-like features look deeply absorbed.
He turned back to the main screen, tiny hands adjusting settings and prepping the mission data like a pint-sized professional. It would have been adorable — if not for the air of command that clung to him like silk and fire.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
Just pure, tiny efficiency.
And then—
A knock.
Three sharp taps against the door.
Abel's expression soured instantly. "What?"
A voice, calm and deep, replied from behind the door.
"It's Leonidas."
Immediately, Abel's shoulders tensed, then straightened.
He cleared his throat, face shifting into a more formal posture as he bowed toward the door.
"Apologies for the tone, Commander. You may enter."
The doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Two figures stepped into the room — the first, tall and imposing, encased in radiant, gold-plated armor that gleamed like the setting sun against steel.
Every curve and edge of the suit was masterfully crafted, layered with intricate engravings that shimmered faintly under the artificial light.
His chestplate bore a diamond shaped insignia pulsing with a faint blue core, and his shoulders were broad with pauldrons shaped like crowned wings, carrying the weight of command effortlessly.
At his hip rested a sheathed katana — its hilt black and gold with diamond-patterned wrapping, the guard shaped like a coiled flame.
He was without a helmet — revealing a chiseled and devastatingly handsome face, it was the sheer gravitas of his aura that made it impossible to look away.
Leonidas didn't walk — he arrived, with the quiet authority of someone who had faced the worst of the Multiverse and walked away unimpressed.
Behind him came someone else entirely.
Not as visually imposing or carrying the same amount of weight but not lacking any of the importance.
His figure was wrapped in black and shaded greys, a sleek tactical bodysuit layered with smooth, minimalist armor across his chest, shoulders, and arms.
Identical padding ran down both limbs in symmetrical fashion, designed for movement over bulk.
A fitted combat vest was strapped tight to his torso, flanked by slim pouches and reinforced seams, every piece of gear purposeful and silent.
Alongside that — subtly connected to his suit and neatly around his neck was a dark scarf-like wrap, snug, unassuming — softening the lines of his otherwise battle-ready silhouette.
He looked built for the field, but not like the others.
There was something more refined about the way it all sat on him — deliberate, precise.
Celia found her eyes lingering longer than she meant to.
His face, now clearly visible in the clean white light of the assembly room, held a quiet balance — slightly handsome, kind of cute.
Youthful in its gentleness, but edged with something unreadable. Something steady.
But Celia recognized him instantly.
It's him… the guy from last night. Haru, she thought. The new recruit?
Leonidas gave a nod to Abel, who straightened slightly in response.
"Haru Tadashima will be returning to active duty effective immediately," Leonidas announced.
Abel exhaled slowly through his nose. "Of course he is."
Haru raised an eyebrow, walking forward casually. "What? You don't look happy to see me, Abel. Thought you'd be thrilled. Most kids love playdates."
Abel turned to him, eyes narrowed. "Forgive me if I don't squeal. I didn't bring snacks."
Celia blinked. Was this normal?
Haru smirked faintly, hands in his coat pockets. "Shame. I was hoping for juice boxes and passive aggression."
"It's called maturity," Abel quipped, turning on his heel. "Try unlocking it someday."
Before the tension could simmer, three familiar voices chimed in.
"Well, well — look who's alive," Akari called out with a grin, waving his half-finished bottle in the air. "Welcome back to the freakshow, Captain Incel."
"Hah! Been a while, brother," Gareth added, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Was startin' to think you ran off scared."
"Tch. Took you long enough," Miyu teased, planting a hand on her hip. "Guess I'll forgive you since your dramatic entrance scores a solid nine out of ten."
Celia gave a small wave. "Hey, it's nice to see you again. I'm glad you're a part of the team now… though, wait—" She glanced around the room. "You already know everyone else?"
All eyes turned to her.
Akari blinked.
Gareth scratched the back of his head.
Miyu tilted hers with curiosity.
Celia froze slightly. "Did… I say something weird?"
Haru rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward smile — a little sheepish, a little guilty. "Yeah, about that…"
He looked at her directly now, soft and apologetic.
"I wasn't completely honest with you last night..."
Celia blinked.
Haru took a slow breath.
"I'm actually…"
Celia stared in anticipation.
"The C-Team's Official Captain."
Her jaw didn't drop — it simply unhinged.
Her thoughts raced.
Captain?
Wait, what?
He's the Captain?
Nothing in her expression could hide the complete and utter breakdown of her internal world.
Leonidas caught the look on Celia's face — wide-eyed, halfway between confusion and revelation — and offered the faintest of smirks.
"Looks like the team's got its captain back, huh?"
Abel rolled his eyes with a sigh, clearly less amused.
With a respectful nod, Leonidas turned to leave.
"Good luck. Hopefully you won't need it."
The doors slid closed behind him.
Abel gestured toward the front without looking up. "Tadashima. Seat. Now."
Haru strolled forward casually, sliding into place before glancing back at Celia with a crooked smile.
"I'll explain later."
Celia nodded faintly, still processing.
Abel raised an eyebrow. "Are we finished chatting?"
Everyone gave a quick nod — even Akari, albeit with a lazy salute.
"Good," Abel muttered, tapping the console.
"Let's talk about the mission…"