The drive toward the estate was long enough for the silence to settle, but short enough that it didn't get comfortable. The sun dipped behind the skyline as the city gave way to rolling estates and lamp-lit drives.
Rows of luxury vehicles lined the outer estate with Valet walking between the vehicles, their polished exteriors catching the last light of day.
Itami sat in the back of the SUV, watching shadows stretch long and shapeless across the tinted windows beside him. Lira adjusted her coat absently, her mask still on. Kael hummed low under his breath—an old military tune, rough and rhythmic.
"Stop fidgeting," Lira said without looking. "You're gonna wrinkle your pretty little suit." She then fixed his mask properly on Itami.
"I'm not fidgeting," Itami muttered, fixing his tie for the fifth time. "It just feels tight."
"That's because it is," Kael said from the driver's seat. "Tailored suits aren't built for comfort. They're built to impress. Or in your case—mask how stiff you are."
"I'm not stiff."
"You're wearing your discomfort like cologne," Lira added with a smirk. "Relax. It's just a party."
"With half the country's influence in one room," Kael muttered.
She leaned forward between the seats, chin propped on her hand. "Exactly. A bore for you two. Fun for me. But look on the bright side—you get to spend the whole evening tailing the class princess."
Itami gave her a side-eye.
"Aw, don't give me that look. You're just quietly observing from behind a mask, in a tailored suit, staying within five feet at all times. I'm just saying—it's like a fairytale waiting to happen."
Itami looked back out the window. "You know your voice carries."
"Only when I want it to."
The estate finally came into view: massive iron gates wrought with swirling patterns like wings, parting slowly at their approach. Beyond lay a marble driveway that curved through manicured gardens and into a grand entrance bathed in warm light.
Guards in sleek formalwear stood straight along the walkway, earpieces visible. The Yaoyorozu name had weight—and the estate reflected it.
Drex's voice crackled in their ears, low and exact. "Remember the mission. Blend and watch."
"Ten-four," Kael said, easing the SUV to a smooth stop near the back.
Lira adjusted her coat once more, swinging the door open with theatrical flair. "Let the masquerade begin."
The ballroom was already alive with light and movement. Crimson banners draped from vaulted ceilings. A string quartet played something elegant and slow near the grand staircase. Dozens of guests in ornate masks moved through the space—some dancing, others mingling around polished tables, champagne flutes in hand.
Itami moved along the edge of it all, mask in place, every sense sharp. He didn't belong here—and he knew it.
Lira, naturally, blended in like smoke. A whisper here, a soft laugh there. She vanished and reappeared between conversation groups without effort, her crimson dress catching the light every so often, her eyes always in motion.
Kael stationed himself near the main entrance, arms crossed. His sharp posture screamed security. No one questioned it.
Itami adjusted his cuffs as he moved between columns and tables, trying to scan discreetly.
No sign of her yet.
Then the lights dimmed, and the music fell into a graceful hush.
Guests turned toward the grand staircase, where a spotlight snapped on. A red carpet unfurled down the steps. From the top emerged a tall man in a sleek black suit and a woman in an emerald green gown—Momo's parents. The crowd broke into applause as a servant handed the man a microphone.
"Thank you all for joining us at this evening's celebration," he began, voice warm but commanding. "Your presence honors our family and our daughter's recent accomplishments."
Another spotlight flicked on, illuminating a young woman descending the steps. Itami's breath hitched a bit.
She wore a deep yellow-green dress, fitted at the waist, with a flowing skirt that brushed her heels. Her black hair was tied up elegantly, pinned in place with subtle gold accents. A pale mask curved around her eyes, and though her face was mostly hidden, the poise was unmistakable.
That can't be her... right?
The way she held herself. The confidence. The grace.
This wasn't the same Momo he saw in class.
This was someone else.
The spotlight faded, and the music resumed, ushering the family to the ballroom floor as guests returned to mingling. Itami stayed still for a beat too long. Then a voice crackled in his earpiece.
"This is Volt-Viper. Eyes on the target?"
Itami adjusted his collar, subtly shifting his gaze. "...Yeah. I've got her."
Another voice followed, deeper—firmer.
"Obsidian Fang. Maintain visual. Keep distance. Observe."
"Uh, right—yeah."
A pause. Then, more sternly, "You say 'ten-four' or 'roger,' rookie. None of this 'yeah' crap."
Itami straightened up instinctively. "Roger."
From his perch along the second-floor balcony, he blended into the shadows near the railing. Just like the plan. Check-ins every fifteen. Watch from a distance. Don't draw attention.
Two hours crawled by. Below, the ballroom glowed under golden light. Waitstaff glided between glittering tables. The quartet had shifted to something slower, almost hypnotic. The scent of wine and expensive perfume filled the air.
Kael leaned against a column downstairs, nursing a martini that looked comically small in his massive hand. His suit jacket was folded neatly over his arm, posture too relaxed to be anything but deliberate.
Across the room, Lira had embedded herself in a circle of young men, laughing at something one of them said. She twirled a champagne flute lazily in her fingers, completely at ease.
And Momo stood with her parents, posture poised, every gesture practiced. The mask she wore shimmered under the chandeliers—elegant, sharp, and somehow more distant than before.
Itami exhaled slowly through his nose. This wasn't his scene.
He reached up and keyed his comm. "Riven, Drex—how much longer are we—"
"Use codenames, rookie," Riven's voice snapped through, flat and annoyed. "We're not even halfway through."
Itami sighed, pulling back from the railing. "Copy that."
He adjusted his position slightly, making sure he was still tucked into the shadows but able to keep a clear view of Momo. Every so often, a ripple of polite laughter or the clink of glasses would break through the hum of music, but otherwise, time dragged.
Then—movement.
From his perch, Itami tracked Momo moving through the crowd with effortless grace.
But then—she stopped.
Her head tilted upward.
Itami tensed as her eyes locked with his through the crowd.
Shit.
He immediately stepped back into the upper corridor's shadows, slipping around to the other side. Almost colliding with a server balancing a tray of champagne. He muttered a quick apology, walking away then pressed his earpiece.
"Obsidian Fang, we might have a small problem. Momo Yaoyorozu might've spotted me."
A deep sigh came through before Drex spoke. "Copy. For now, keep your distance."
"What if she approaches?"
Sasuke cut in before Drex could answer. "Just say you're here on our clan's behalf. We were invited to this gala after all."
"All right. If the target does approach you, act like a guest," Drex said after a moment of silence.
Before Itami could say anything else, Riven's voice cut through, calm and sharp.
"Drop your posture. You're too stiff."
Itami swallowed and tried to shift his stance, relaxing his shoulders. He leaned forward, arms on the railing again, trying to casually scan the crowd.
Where did she g—
"Excuse me."
He turned slowly.
Momo stood a few paces away, her mask perfectly framing her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, polite but edged with suspicion.
"You look... familiar."
He cleared his throat, attempting to deepen his voice slightly. "You must be mistaking me for someone else."
A crackle came through his earpiece.
Riven's voice—dry, clipped.
"Drop the voice, rookie. You sound like you swallowed a screw."
Itami sighed under his breath and relaxed his tone. "Fine. You caught me. It's Itami."
Momo blinked, recognition blooming across her face. "I knew it. What are you doing here? I didn't expect to see anyone from class."
He straightened his posture, carefully choosing his words. "I'm... here on behalf of the Wyrm-Crest family. A goodwill gesture, apparently. Politics."
Momo folded her arms, clearly intrigued. "I didn't know our families had any real connection."
"Neither did I," he admitted. "Seems like they want one."
She smiled softly. "It must be strange. Being asked to represent something so... big. Especially when you never asked for it."
Itami gave a short laugh. "You say that like you don't know the feeling."
Her smile shifted—less polished now, more tired. Real. "I know it too well."
They stood in silence for a beat, the air between them heavier than before.
"My parents are always setting up appearances like this," Momo said. "Dinner parties, gallery events,
charity auctions. It's all about showing face. Keeping the family's status... untouchable."
She didn't sound bitter—just resigned. Like someone used to carrying a weight that never got lighter.
"You ever push back?" Itami asked quietly.
Momo shook her head. "Sometimes. But it's exhausting. And they're not wrong. I'm the heir. I have to represent something bigger than myself. Even if I'm pursuing a hero career."
He studied her—really studied her.
Behind the mask and the perfect posture was someone who understood the same loneliness he felt.
"That doesn't mean it has to define you," he said.
She met his gaze, steady. "What about you? Do you push back?"
"I did..." He glanced down at his hands. "That's how I ended up here."
A small chuckle passed between them as the orchestra swelled below—soft, slow, golden.
The lights dimmed lower, making the marble floors glow with a rich warmth. Dancers moved like shadows wrapped in silk.
"And now we've got the Sports Festival in a week," Momo added, almost absently, her voice gentler now. "As if expectations weren't already high enough."
"Yeah."
Itami's eyes stayed on the dancers. "Another stage to perform on."
"You planning to win?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. Or I might just lose in the first round."
Momo smiled—genuine this time. "I think you'll do more than that."
He glanced sideways at her.
The mask she wore did little to hide the quiet strength in her expression.
"For what it's worth," she said softly, "I'm glad you're here tonight."
Itami didn't answer immediately. He just nodded once, the motion small but sincere.
"Me too. Someone friendly to talk to."
Right on cue, Sasuke's voice crackled in his earpiece, full of dry humor.
"Am I not friendly?"
Itami fought the urge to laugh as he heard someone on coms do a slight chuckle.
Down below, the music shifted again—a new rhythm, smooth and elegant. A waltz began to rise, flowing through the grand ballroom.
Momo glanced toward the dance floor, then back at him. "You don't dance much, do you?"
Itami raised an eyebrow. "That obvious?"
She gave a small, amused nod. "A little. You've been standing like you're waiting for a fire drill."
He scoffed quietly under his breath. "I'm more of a background kind of guy."
"Well," she said, her voice soft but teasing, "you might want to rethink that."
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why?"
Momo just smiled—not smug, but knowing. "Because the night's just getting started."
A brief pause—comfortable, but electric.
Then Lira's voice cut in over the earpiece, playful and sing-song.
"She's interested in you, you know. Like I said, straight from a fairytale."
"Stay off the channel," Drex cut in, gruff but faintly amused.
A faint laugh from Sasuke followed before the line went silent again.
The waltz carried on below, echoing through the chandelier-lit space, as Itami and Momo watched the dancers, a strange stillness settling between them.