The rumor mill exploded before first period.
By the time the boy reached his locker, he had already heard at least five different versions of yesterday's events—none of them correct, all of them dramatic.
"Apparently the sky cracked open because of a gas leak."
"No, no, it was a military drill."
"My cousin says it was aliens."
He closed his locker a little harder than necessary. "Why is *everything* aliens?"
Beside him, she tried very hard to look like a normal student and not someone who had piloted a world-ending machine less than twenty-four hours ago.
"Just ignore it," she whispered. "Act natural."
"Right," he said. "Because *this* is natural."
He gestured vaguely between them—standing too close, hands twitching like magnets, an invisible tension buzzing in the air.
She sighed. "Okay. Rule number one for today."
"There are rules now?"
"Yes. Rule number one: no touching."
He stared at her. "…At all?"
"Yes."
"Even accidentally?"
"Especially accidentally."
His heart immediately did something stupid.
The lights overhead flickered.
She winced. "See? Already a problem."
---
Homeroom was worse.
They sat on opposite sides of the room like they were being punished for a crime neither of them could quite name. He tried to focus on attendance, on the teacher's droning voice, on literally anything that wasn't the awareness of her presence—
—and failed completely.
Every time she shifted in her seat, he felt it. Every time she glanced in his direction, something warm and electric tightened in his chest.
*This is unfair,* he thought.
*You're thinking too loudly,* she replied inside his mind.
He stiffened. *Wait. We're still… connected?*
A pause.
*…Maybe a little.*
He groaned and dropped his forehead onto his desk.
The teacher cleared her throat. "Is there a problem?"
"No," he said quickly, sitting up. "Just—uh—thinking."
"Try doing that quietly," she replied dryly.
From across the room, she hid a smile.
---
Second period brought an announcement.
The principal's voice crackled over the intercom. "Attention students. We would like to welcome two new transfer students joining us today. Please make them feel at home."
The classroom door slid open.
Two students stepped inside.
The boy felt it immediately—a pressure in the air, subtle but unmistakable. His skin prickled, instincts he didn't know he had screaming to attention.
The transfer boy was tall, composed, with sharp eyes that missed nothing. His uniform was immaculate, posture relaxed but deliberate.
The girl beside him looked… amused.
Her smile was bright, playful, and entirely too confident for someone new. She scanned the room, then her gaze locked onto *him*.
And lingered.
"Oh no," he muttered under his breath.
She felt it too.
Her spine went rigid.
*They're like us,* he thought.
*Yes,* she replied grimly. *And they know it.*
The teacher gestured to the empty desks—coincidentally (and suspiciously) one near him, and one near her.
The transfer girl took the seat behind him, leaning forward immediately. "Hi~!"
He jumped. "Hi!"
She laughed. "You're jumpy. Cute."
His face heated. "Uh—thanks?"
From across the room, his partner's expression darkened.
The transfer boy sat beside her, offering a polite smile. "Good morning."
She nodded stiffly. "Morning."
He leaned in just slightly. "Relax. We're not here to fight."
"That's not reassuring," she replied flatly.
---
Lunch was a battlefield.
The boy barely made it to his seat before the transfer girl plopped down across from him, chin propped on her hands.
"So," she said cheerfully. "You're one half of the legendary reawakening pair."
He choked on his drink. "I'm—what?"
She tilted her head. "Oh. You don't remember everything yet."
He shot a panicked look at *his* partner, who was currently stabbing her food with unnecessary aggression.
The transfer boy sat calmly beside her. "You should watch your synchronization," he said mildly. "Your emotional spikes are… loud."
She froze. "You can feel that?"
"Of course," he replied. "We can feel each other too."
The boy swallowed. "Okay, I officially hate lunch."
The transfer girl giggled. "I'm Miri! He's Kade. We're partners."
"That seems to be a theme," he muttered.
Miri leaned closer. "You two are adorable, by the way."
His brain short-circuited. "Wha—?"
"You don't even realize how obvious it is," she continued. "Your emotional link is *everywhere*. It's like watching a rom-com with explosions."
His partner snapped. "We are *not* a rom-com."
Miri's smile widened. "Oh, sweetheart. You absolutely are."
---
After school, they finally cornered each other on the rooftop—quiet, wind-swept, blessedly empty.
The boy paced. "Okay. So. Transfer students. Partners. Also apparently mind-readers."
"They're not mind-readers," she corrected. "They're synchronized."
"With each other," he said. "Like us."
"Yes."
He stopped pacing. "Are they… enemies?"
She hesitated.
"…Not exactly."
"That's not comforting."
"They work for an organization," she continued. "One that survived the reset. They monitor anomalies—people like us."
"So we're anomalies now."
She gave him a look. "You pilot a reincarnated combat frame powered by feelings."
"…Fair."
The rooftop door creaked open.
Miri leaned out, grinning. "Knock, knock!"
Neither of them jumped this time—progress.
Kade followed, hands in his pockets. "Relax. If we wanted to capture you, this would've ended already."
"Wow," the boy said. "You really know how to make friends."
Miri clasped her hands. "We just wanted to talk!"
"About what?" he asked.
She tilted her head. "About love."
His partner groaned.
Kade spoke calmly. "Your synchronization is unstable long-term."
"What does that mean?" the boy asked.
"It means," Kade said, "that your emotional attachment is stronger than your combat alignment."
Miri beamed. "You're in love before you're ready to fight together properly!"
The boy's face went nuclear. "We—!"
His partner turned away sharply.
Silence fell.
Kade nodded. "See?"
The boy took a breath. "…So what happens?"
Kade looked at them both. "Either you learn to balance it—romance and responsibility—or the next battle will tear you apart."
Miri clapped. "No pressure!"
She stepped closer to the boy, eyes sparkling. "But don't worry. I'll be cheering for you."
"…Why?" he asked.
She smiled softly. "Because stories like yours don't come around twice."
The wind picked up, carrying the distant hum of something awakening far below the city.
His partner reached for his hand—then hesitated.
He took it anyway.
Whatever was coming next—
They'd face it together.
Even if it was messy.
Even if it was embarrassing.
Even if it was love.
---