"You really think so?"

"I know so," I reply, then let my gaze drop pointedly to her mouth.

She finally catches on, her tongue darting out to clear away the evidence of her dessert. Her face flames red, blooming like a sunset across her cheeks, and she quickly grabs her napkin to make sure she got it all. The crimson flush spreads in fascinating patterns across her delicate features, making the blue of her hair seem even more vibrant by contrast.

"Sorry," she mumbles, her eyes darting away from mine. "How embarrassing."

"I thought it was cute," I say, my voice dropping just enough to make the compliment feel like a secret between us, an intimate exchange floating beneath the café's ambient chatter.

This only makes her blush harder, the color spreading down her neck like watercolor on parchment. She fiddles with her napkin, folding and unfolding it with delicate fingers. The small golden bracelet on her wrist catches the light as she moves, sending tiny prisms dancing across the table between us. I track the movement, cataloging every nervous gesture, every microexpression that betrays her emotional state.

Our conversation flows easily after that, moving through topics like water around stones in a stream. She tells me about her passion for Hunter fashion, how she sketches designs for gear that's both functional and stylistically innovative. Her entire demeanor transforms as she speaks about her creative outlet - her shoulders straighten, her hands gesticulate with infectious enthusiasm, and her eyes light up with genuine passion, that earlier embarrassment melting away beneath the warmth of her creative fire.

"It's like, why does combat gear have to be so boring, you know?" she says, reaching for her phone. "Just because you're fighting monsters doesn't mean you can't look good doing it!"

She shows me a few drawings on her phone—they're good, surprisingly so. Not amateur doodles, but detailed technical sketches with fabric specifications and functional notes in the margins. She has a genuine talent, an eye for both aesthetics and practical application. One design in particular catches my eye: a sleek, reinforced jacket with cleverly hidden compartments and stylized armor plates that follow the natural curves of the body.

"This is seriously impressive," I tell her, and mean it. Even Kaelen's cynical instincts recognize raw talent when he sees it. "Have you ever thought about interning with a gear manufacturer after graduation? Your designs could revolutionize the industry. There's a huge market gap for hunters who want functionality without sacrificing style."

"You're exaggerating," she says, but looks pleased all the same. She tucks a strand of sapphire-blue hair behind her ear, those two distinctive antenna-like strands bobbing with her movement.

"I'm really not. I—"

I stop mid-sentence, my attention caught by a pair of Hunters who've just entered the café. They're in full uniform, bearing the emblem of Aegis Prime on their shoulders—the sleek silver shield instantly recognizable even from across the room. The woman has an arm in a cast, the pristine white bandage stark against the navy blue of her combat suit, while the man sports a nasty gash across his cheek. Their faces bear the hollow, thousand-yard stare of people who've seen something they'll never unsee.

Emi follows my gaze, her expression sobering as she takes in their battered appearance.

I seize the moment, leaning in slightly, my voice dropping to an intimate murmur that creates a bubble around just the two of us. "Tough life, isn't it? Trying to be a normal person when you're training to be a monster killer. Living with one foot in each world."

She turns back to me. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for it. The fighting, the danger. I just want to help people. I'm not like Natalia—I don't dream about being the strongest or proving anything. I just want everyone to come home safe."

"And you will." I reach across the table, not quite touching her hand but close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from my skin. "That's what makes you special, Emi. In a world full of people looking to destroy, you want to heal. That's rare. And it's valuable—more valuable than another offense-focused Hunter could ever be."

Her breath catches, and I know I've struck gold.

"Thank you," she whispers, then smiles. "No one's ever put it quite like that before besides my parents. Usually people just tell me I need to toughen up or learn some combat skills."

I pull back, taking a sip of my tea. "Just calling it like I see it. The frontline fighters get all the glory, but it's the healers who really determine whether a mission succeeds or fails."

From the corner of my eye, I notice a figure outside the café—a tall woman in a dark hoodie and baseball cap, hovering near a magazine stand with suspicious intensity. The expensive sneakers and the glimpse of purple hair peeking out from beneath the cap are unmistakable. I can't see her face, but the rigid posture and furtive glances toward our table are dead giveaways.

Well, well, well. Look who couldn't stay away. My jealous little Queen.

I'll have to punish her later for this little stunt, but for now, I'll give her a show worth watching.

"Actually," I say to Emi, setting down my cup with purpose, leaning forward slightly to create a more intimate tableau for my hidden audience, "would you mind if we look at some of your notes? I'm particularly interested in your perspective on Aspect Theory. Natalia mentioned you have a unique way of breaking it down."

"Of course!" She brightens, diving into her bag with renewed enthusiasm, nearly knocking over her empty cup in her eagerness. "I made these color-coded summaries of the Vance-Ishiguro Model that I think you'll find really helpful. I use this visual mapping system that helps me connect the theoretical concepts to practical applications."

As she arranges her meticulously organized notes on the table—a rainbow of highlighted text and careful annotations—I glance once more at the lurking figure outside. I know Natalia can see us through the window, can see how I lean closer to Emi, how I let my fingers brush against hers as she passes me a sheet of paper.

Enjoy the show, Princess. This is just Act One.

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