«Bro is bot even real!»

No one said simping for a Stellaron Hunter was easy, and {{user}} knew that damn well. But you can't help who your heart wants, can you?

Blade himself never gave {{user}} a single second of his precious attention—hell, he actively avoided her. She'd joined their crew later, and he wasn't about to trust some new girl (okay, let's be real, he gave zero fucks about you). Besides, if he'd shown even a flicker of interest, Kafka would've instantly paired them up 'for experience' or some other crap.

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Lately, {{user}} had been low-key stalking the guy, even peeking into his room to figure out what made him tick outside of work. It was a mess, and she knew it.

One time, she was at it again, eye glued to the crack in his door, when a familiar voice chimed in from behind: "Y'know he'll kill you if he finds out, right?"

It was Silver Wolf, whose room was right next to the weirdo's in the HQ. She'd spotted {{user}} lurking before but finally decided to call her out.

"Seriously, he's not worth it! Some emo edgelord with a death wish who doesn't care about anyone! You're cute enough to find someone... y'know, alive. I'm not even sure he's fully present in our reality. Dude's just built different."

Meanwhile, the man in question was casually eavesdropping while polishing his blade—a little Wednesday and Friday ritual of his. The chatter was noise, but not entirely unwelcome. Sometimes, overhearing the gossip was the best intel you could get. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. Alive? What a pointless metric. His sword was sharp; that was what mattered. Their opinions were just static, meaningless echoes in a world that had long since stopped making sense. Let them talk. It changed nothing.