Nanami checked his watch. "Fifteen more minutes to Central Stop, sir. Hold on tight."
They moved forward.
The city around them buzzed with noise, but for a moment, all Gin could hear was the echo of his own excitement.
Central Stop Collision
The Central Stop was chaos incarnate.
Vendors shouted over each other, hawking meat skewers, noodles, and cheap knock-off merch featuring top heroes from Prime and beyond. Holograms shimmered beside cracked screens showing highlights from the latest dungeon raids. A massive LED billboard loomed above the station, flashing a retina-melting MPA recruitment ad in obnoxious colors.
Below it, a girl in a half-cape screamed and chased after a guy in a rubber monster suit—tips only.
Iwaizumi stood perfectly still in the middle of it all, doing his best to pretend he didn't exist in this timeline.
He checked his watch again.
11:15 AM. Sharp.
Beside him, Tabaki slouched against a vending machine like a delinquent waiting for detention to start. His black jacket hung lazily off one shoulder, his phone dangled in one hand, and his mouth was stained a faint blue from some cursed slushie he wouldn't stop sipping.
"Late. Not a good sign. What if he's a psychopath? Horrifying," Tabaki said, slurping loudly.
"Give it a rest, Tabaki. This isn't a movie," Iwaizumi muttered. "My mom and I checked his records—no issues. And why would K-Pen sponsor a psychopath?"
Tabaki gave a lazy shrug.
"Dunno. Just bored. Wanted to create some drama. Hehehe."
Iwaizumi didn't answer. He was too busy mentally rehearsing polite greetings and worst-case scenario public de-escalation strategies. But he couldn't lie to himself—somewhere deep down, he was hoping Gin wasn't some socially feral maniac.
Don't let Tabaki get in your head. Don't let him—
Iwaizumi lightly slapped his own cheeks.
Tabaki noticed and grinned, teeth flashing blue.
"Oh no. I was right, huh?"
"Relax," Tabaki added, stretching. "I'm just messing with you. Besides, I bet Gin's the most normal person you'll ever meet. Non-Pulse users usually are. Boringly normal."
Iwaizumi glanced at him. "You still don't use your Pulse, huh?"
The question hung in the air.
For once, Tabaki didn't crack a joke.
"I don't wanna talk about it," he said quietly.
"Ever since I burned my sister's hands when I was a kid… I just—no. I don't even wanna touch that side of me. If I could forget how to trigger it, I would."
Iwaizumi looked away, biting back a sigh.
He didn't really know Tabaki, not in the traditional best-friend sense. But in their own strange way, they understood each other. Two people orbiting around past mistakes and unwanted gifts, never quite crashing but never breaking free either.
Still, he respected him.
And hoped Gin—whoever he was—wouldn't bring more fire to the pile.
Then—a siren screamed down the road.
A black patrol car tore around the corner like it was chasing down a drug bust. It fishtailed slightly—then corrected with military precision before screeching to a halt in front of them.
The front window rolled down with a mechanical whirr.
A weary-eyed officer leaned out, his expression the perfect blend of stress and forced professionalism—like he was veryready to be done with whatever rode in the seat beside him. His uniform was crisp, collar buttoned tight, but he looked like he'd been holding his breath the entire drive.
"You Iwaizumi Han?" he asked.
Iwaizumi stepped forward. "Yes, sir."
"Officer Nanami. He's yours now."
Nanami glanced toward the passenger seat, then gave a sigh. "Alright, sir. Gin, we're here."
And without a shred of hesitation or regard for traffic laws, he threw open the door and extended his arms like a stage performer.
"HELLO THERE!!!"
A passing car swerved hard, barely missing the open door.
"Hey! Watch it, lunatic!" the driver screamed as the car honked and disappeared into the chaos.
Iwaizumi stared, dumbfounded.
And there he was.
Gin Maximus.
At first glance, he looked… normal. Collared shirt. Dark slacks. Regulation shoes. No visible weapons, no glowing marks, no scarred aura screaming "Harden criminal."
But something about him felt completely off.
Not threatening. Just… loudly wrong.
Optimism radiated off him like heat waves. His entire presence seemed allergic to subtlety.
His sleeves were rolled unevenly. His collar was open just far enough to break school dress code. His backpack dangled from one strap like it wasn't sure how gravity worked.
And the wind.
There shouldn't have been wind.
Yet his hair fluttered—perfectly—as if the universe itself had decided to give him an entrance worthy of a slow-motion music video.
Gin Maximus.
He dropped his bag onto the concrete with a theatrical thud, grinned like he'd just stepped onto a reality show set, and threw his arms wider.
"Ah! My guardians! My new family!"
Tabaki blinked. Then leaned toward Iwaizumi and muttered, deadpan:
"Yep. He's definitely a psycho."
Iwaizumi sighed and stepped forward, determined to at least try professionalism.
Hi, sir. I'm Iwaizumi Han. I've just been assigned to—"
He didn't get to finish.
Gin surged forward and hugged him. Full-body. Tight.
"You smell like disinfectant and bakery bread," Gin announced proudly, lifting Iwaizumi off the ground with concerning ease.
Still holding him, Gin beamed with closed eyes.
"That's a compliment, by the way. My favorite cellmate said people love being complimented on their scent."
Iwaizumi's brain promptly short-circuited.
No hesitation. No personal boundaries. Just full commitment to whatever this chaos was supposed to be.
He was too stunned to react—mostly because he'd just realized he was airborne. Gin was holding him like a rescue princess, and Iwaizumi was not emotionally prepared for that kind of physical proximity from a complete stranger.
"Mr Gin," Iwaizumi said as calmly as he could manage, voice tight, "please sir put me down."
"Oh!" Gin blinked like someone waking from a trance, finally registering the weight in his arms. "Whoa—right! "Of course! Sorry, sorry!"
He gently—too gently—set Iwaizumi back on his feet, like he was handling fine, precious gems. Then, with the theatrical flair of a man auditioning for a stage play, Gin took a dramatic step back and threw up a salute.
"No hard feelings, right?"
Iwaizumi adjusted his wrinkled T-shirt, trying to salvage a shred of dignity. "Just… don't do that again, sir."
Gin grinned like he'd just been handed a gold star. "Noted! No surprise hugs. Unless it's a really good day."
Tabaki stared, mouth slightly open, then turned to Iwaizumi. "Please don't ever let him hug me like that."
"Haha, sure sure! And what might your name be?" Gin turned to Tabaki. "Are you brothers? I don't remember any siblings mentioned in chief Megnon's reports…"
"Clearly you're Mr. Iwaizumi's friend," Gin added, eyeing Tabaki curiously.
"Yes sir. Tabaki Smith," Tabaki replied with a slight nod, crossing his arms as if to protect himself from any incoming affection.
"Nice to meet you, Tabaki. And remember—if you ever want a hug, just let me know!"
"No, no, no thanks, sir. Trust me. Definitely don't want a hug from me. It burns."
Gin tilted his head. "Burns?"
Tabaki replied, "Yeah. My pulse can be very—"
But Gin was no longer listening. His attention had already shifted, eyes darting around mid-spin, scanning the street.
Then, like a switch had flipped, his entire face lit up. "Is that… what's that and this?!"
He stopped spinning, eyes locking onto something in the crowd.
And then he saw him.
His usual fun-loving expression shifted. Eyes sharpened. Posture straightened.
Could it be?
"I thought they said he was—" Gin whispered to himself. "But I'm sure that's him."
He dashed back toward the patrol car where Nanami was busy fumbling with the transfer form.
"Nanami!" he shouted. "He's here! I told you!"
Nanami flinched at the volume, instinctively jerking upright—and in the process, dropped the car keys, which clattered and disappeared under the driver's seat.
Nanami glanced up, confused. "What are you—?"
"I found him!" Gin declared triumphantly. "Prime!"