The hum of the train blurred against the backdrop of the city's neon veins. Tokyo pulsed with its usual rhythm—chaotic, alive—but Makoto Nijima felt uncharacteristically still.
She stood near the back of the carriage, one hand wrapped lightly around the overhead strap, the other tucked into her coat pocket. Her fingers toyed with the corner of her school ID card, over and over, like it might ground her in reality.
But reality was slipping.
Ryuji's transformation had been the first sign that something was wrong—truly wrong. Not just another Metaverse glitch or a new kind of Shadow acting out. No. Something divine had touched them. Something they didn't understand.
And Ren…
Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, the memory of him fresh in her mind. The way he stood now—his eyes deeper, voice smoother, presence more commanding. She wasn't sure when she started noticing the shift. A slight lean forward when he spoke to her. A quiet intensity in his gaze when she voiced her concerns.
You're imagining things, she told herself again.
But it didn't explain the way her stomach knotted whenever they locked eyes. Or the way her dreams had begun to betray her—dreams of moments never shared, of whispered words and lingering touches.
She hated feeling unmoored. Uncertain.
By the time she reached Leblanc, the air had cooled. The soft jingle of the café doorbell announced her, and the scent of roasted coffee beans wrapped around her like a worn blanket.
Ren looked up from the counter, where he was lazily wiping down cups beside Sojiro. His dark eyes met hers, unreadable but… warmer than they should have been.
"Makoto," he greeted, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
She hesitated in the doorway, then stepped inside. "We need to talk."
Sojiro raised a brow but took the hint. "I'll go prep the back room. You kids do whatever strange thief business it is you do."
They waited until the door clicked shut behind him. Then, silence.
Makoto took a deep breath, arms crossing over her chest—not defensively, just to hold herself still.
"You've changed," she said quietly. "You know you have."
Ren didn't deny it. He looked at her thoughtfully, like he'd been expecting this conversation.
"Things are… happening," he said. "To all of us."
"That's not an answer," she snapped, but her voice was barely above a whisper.
He stepped around the counter, closing the distance between them with quiet steps. Not looming—never that. Just… near. The warmth of him reached her before he spoke again.
"I don't want to lie to you."
That, more than anything, shook her. Because Ren never lied. He deflected, sometimes. Hid pain behind calm. But when he said something, it carried the weight of someone who meant it.
Her heartbeat was thunder in her ears.
"I'm scared," she admitted softly, eyes searching his face. "Not of you. But of what this is. Of what I'm feeling. Of what might happen if we lose control."
He looked at her with quiet understanding, but this time, there was something else in his gaze. Not dominance. Not seduction. Something gentler.
"I'm still me, Makoto."
"And I'm still trying to believe that," she whispered.
A silence stretched between them. Heavy. Full.
Then, slowly, Makoto reached out—just a touch. Her fingers brushed the sleeve of his shirt, uncertain, but willing. She didn't know if it was longing or curiosity or the slow unraveling of the walls she kept so tightly wound around her.
But he didn't pull away.
And for now, that was enough.