Chapter 3. Yamada's Hideout – Few hours prior to current events.
Tsuki Mitsumaki worked in silence.
Her fingers moved with practiced ease—removing, adjusting, transforming. Each motion was precise, calculated.
She had done this countless times before.
And yet, every time, it felt like a ritual.
Yamada sat before her, their expression unreadable. Their posture was relaxed, almost casual, but Tsuki knew better.
Yamada never truly relaxed.
The room itself was dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of powders, cleansers, and synthetic skin adhesives. The mirror before them reflected a stranger's face. A face that, in just a few more minutes, would cease to exist.
Tsuki reached up, carefully undoing the fastenings on the wig. Slowly, she peeled it away, revealing the true color of Yamada's hair beneath.
It felt like peeling away a mask.
She had always thought Yamada's real hair looked far better than the disguises they wore—but Yamada never let it show for long. A face left exposed was a weakness.
And Yamada never allowed weaknesses.
Still, Tsuki took her time, fingers brushing against their scalp as she adjusted the strands. It was a quiet, almost intimate process.
Then, she moved to the eyes.
Carefully, she removed the optical lenses, setting them aside before reaching for a small container.
In the reflection of the mirror, Yamada blinked once—eyes shifting to their natural color.
It always struck Tsuki as unsettling.
The way a single change could make them look like a completely different person.
Not a man. Not a woman. Just Yamada.
The one who saved me.
Tsuki's fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then, she continued working.
--
Tsuki Mitsumaki was many things.
A fighter. An assistant. A weapon, if Yamada wished her to be.
But above all else—she was a devotee
Not because she had been ordered to be. Not because of some fabricated sense of duty.
No.
It was because, once upon a time, she had been nothing.
Less than nothing.
A target. A weakling. The girl who existed only to be torn apart.
She could still remember the cold pavement against her cheek. The feeling of hands grasping at her hair, yanking her up only to throw her down again. The way laughter had echoed, sharp and cruel.
The way her body had shaken.
She had learned to stop fighting back early on. It never made a difference.
It only made them angrier.
And so, she had given up.
Let them hurt her. Let them win.
Because that was what weak people did.
And then—
They appeared.
Not as a hero. Not as some righteous figure stepping in to rescue the poor victim.
Yamada had simply been there.
And they had chosen her.
She didn't know why. She never questioned it.
All she knew was that, from that day on—her life belonged to Yamada.
No hesitation. No doubts.
No one had ever protected her before.
No one had ever seen her before.
And Yamada—Yamada had given her purpose.
She would follow them anywhere.
--
Tsuki finished applying the final layer of concealer, blending it with delicate precision.
The transformation was nearly complete.
The stranger in the mirror was no longer the same person who had walked in minutes ago.
Another face. Another name. Another mask.
Tsuki let out a slow breath, satisfied.
Then, softly, she spoke.
"Perfect."
Yamada's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
And Tsuki—Tsuki felt warm.
Yamada adjusted their collar, glancing at Tsuki through the mirror. Their voice was calm, measured.
Yamada: "There's something I left behind. A small thing, but important."
Tsuki tilted her head slightly, already anticipating the request
"Be careful. There can be some uninvited guests."
Tsuki's eyes flickered with understanding.
Tsuki: "Understood."
--
Back to appartment
The air in the hallway had started to settle. From his crouched position, Hayase could hear it clearly— ITEM was about to leave.
Kinuhata, Frenda, and Takitsubo were making their final checks, scanning the apartment for anything they might've missed. It looked like they were wrapping things up, which meant the tension in the air had finally started to fade.
Finally.
For a second, Hayase allowed himself to exhale, he was at safe distance, it was impossible for ITEM to notice him, but he was clearly hearing all of their conversations-- thanks to the technological advancement of academy city.
He learned some important things today, not about the project tho, it was some crucial information on ITEM.
Apparently, Mugino was on yet another one of her extreme diets—no carbs, no sugar, only lean proteins—which explained why she had been unusually irritable. However, according to Takitsubo, who barely had the energy to speak, Mugino had secretly devoured three whole cakes the previous night. That bit of hypocrisy was amusing.
But things took an even stranger turn when the conversation shifted to their underwear preferences. Frenda, ever the instigator, tried to guess each of their styles—correctly assuming Kinuhata favored sporty boyshorts and Takitsubo opted for plain but comfortable pink ones.
Just as she was about to speculate on Mugino's choice, the audio feed cut out briefly, only to return with Frenda quickly backpedaling, making it very clear that Mugino's lingerie was a subject best left untouched. Hayase sighed, he was on the gate of heavens but gods not allowing him to enter with his lewd fantasy. Truly, ITEM was a professional organization.
He shifted his position against the cold railing. He had already decided on his next move. He'd wait for them to leave, give it five minutes, and then slip inside to investigate.
That was the plan.
Then the window slammed open.
What the hell…?
He ran towards the main door to check the source of this combination. Someone had just jumped in through the window.
She had long, deep purple hair pulled into a loose side ponytail, golden eyes that practically burned with irritation, and a face that was equal parts sharp and beautiful. But what caught Hayase's attention wasn't her face.
A tight, high-slit Chinese qipao, embroidered with golden dragon designs. Silk that clung to her body, outlining every curve with almost obscene precision.
And the slits, they ran dangerously high, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs with every movement.
What the actual hell is she wearing?
That was not standard attire of academy city's resident.
Not that he was complaining—but still.
The girl's eyes swept over the mess ITEM had made, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Then, without looking at them, she spoke.
"Who the hell are you brats, and why are you touching Master's stuff?"
Her tone was flat. Calm. But beneath it, there was something sharp like a knife being unsheathed.
Great. Just great.
Now there was another wildcard in the mix.
He took a slow, steady breath, recalculating the situation.
Before, it had been simple: Observe ITEM. Wait for them to leave. Move in.
But now?
Now, there was an angry, half-dressed girl standing in the middle of Yamada's apartment, demanding answers.
Frenda was the first to react.
She tilted her head slightly, already reaching into her bag.
"Tch. And who the hell are you?"
Takitsubo, still leaning lazily against the wall, let out a small yawn.
"Another random?"
If the girl was intimidated, she didn't show it.
Instead, she walked straight past them, ignoring them entirely.
Her gaze swept over the papers thrown across the desk, the half-open drawers, the mess ITEM had mad. and for the first time since she entered the room—her expression changed.
Annoyance. No—disgust.
Then, very slowly, she turned to face ITEM again.
"You rummaged through everything."
A pause.
"Idiots."
Oh?
Frenda bristled immediately.
"Excuse me?"
Kinuhata raised an eyebrow. "Yamada?."
The girl scoffed.
" I'm an assistant."
Frenda rolled her eyes. "Oh? You a scientist too?"
That was when the girl finally smirked.
"Do I look like a scientist to you?"
Hayase had to actively resist the urge to laugh.
No. No, you absolutely do not.
But even as he thought that, something about the way she said it bothered him.
Because it wasn't just confidence.
It was certainty, she wasn't just some assistant.
She moved.
To Be Continued…
--
Next Chapter: The Fight Begins! But Just Who Is She?