I got a little stuck in the campaign, hence the lull. Damn Nergigante.

—Spring Planning—

The Third Fleet Master has a gift for you. After informing you of just that, she has you sit down in the main room of her little flat while she disappears into her bedroom. By the time she rejoins you, you've already exhausted every possible option regarding what the present could be.

As it turns out, every one of your guesses is wrong: the neatly rolled material she hands you is a set of armour.

Part of you is thrilled and the other part confused. It's a strange and unexpected gift, both because of who it's from and because of what it is. Then again, you should have expected something practical from the woman. Had she gone to Astera and had it crafted or was this another skill the enigmatic scholar possessed?

"Try it on." She points towards what you know to be a spare room. "I won't peek."

What a strange thing to say. This isn't the first time she's teased you, but the playful tone of voice has been a recent addition—a welcome one that makes your face heat.

You do as you're told, the heat in your face intensifying when you examine yourself in the new set of armour. It takes you a full minute to shore up enough courage to go back into the main room, a minute during which you hear her ask if everything is alright.

When you rejoin her, your heart thudding against the inside of your breast, you stand awkwardly before her, fidgeting. You're hyperaware of the way the open air touches your exposed skin and it feels cool in contrast to how hot you are.

"It fits you well." That dark gaze is like a physical touch and it excites you that she seems to appreciate the skin revealed by the cutouts in hide pants. "Give us a spin..."

You turn, slowly, shivering when a warm hand touches your back, left exposed by the cut of the top. Her fingertips tickle along the curve of your spine as she skirts around to your front.

"Lovely."

Your breath hitches. You don't want to move for fear that she'll slip out of your reach. You've made so much progress from cool, aloof leader to playful vixen and you can't risk taking a step backwards. She's proven a few times that she'd just as quickly retreat as she would advance.

She's smiling her usual, enigmatic smile, though there's concern in the way her eyebrows lower. "Do you like it?"

You love it.

It's with that sense of gratefulness and affection in your heart that you lean in and kiss the Third Fleet Master. Just once. Quickly, before you lose your nerve.

"What was that for?" She's not complaining and when she pulls you in for another, then another, you make a soft, wanting sound. You feel curiously cold when she steps away from you. "Are you going to the Spring Festival?"

Is this an invitation? You don't want to seem too eager.

Sure enough, her next question is, "Were you going to take that girl?"

That wasn't a strange question given that plenty of Handler-Hunter pairs attended special events together, but there's an underlying implication there that gives you pause. She knows the answer, so this must be another test. Who would have taken her for the territorial type?

You hadn't actually given the festival much thought, despite having been kept up the past few nights by the sound of fireworks. The festivities are actually a great excuse for spending the majority of your time in the Research Base, so you can't be too peeved with the revellers. You're not much of a partier yourself, but if the Third Fleet Master is interested, you'll happily make an exception.

So you play along with her game and make sure she's well aware that you're available and she smirks like the Felyne that's caught the coralbird. "Would you care to go together? Maybe not this week, but soon."

You're so excited you kiss her again and she smiles against your lips.

"I'll take that as a yes..."

The Commander has called you all to council to discuss your findings in the Rotten Vale. Apparently it was now or never: stop Zorah Magdaros from upsetting the balance of nature or die trying.

"We can do this, Partner." Despite the confidence in her tone, your Handler seems just as grim as the others gathered around the round table.

As you look from face to face, some with forced expressions of cheer and others with stoic acceptance, you're struck by a single realization that makes your stomach twist into knots. It's with a heavy feeling of dread that you finally fall asleep that night, knowing full well you'll need to break the news to the Third Fleet Master.