They hit a few rides. She laughed more than she meant to. He never forced anything. Just listened, responded, kept pace. They moved like two people slowly discovering rhythm.
Then came the tin duck shooting booth.
Handwritten sign in red: "KING'S SHOT – 5 HITS = ULTIMATE PRIZE"
Prize: A ridiculous six-foot teddy bear wearing a monocle and a gold paper crown.
A teenager walked off cursing under his breath.
Sera folded her arms. "This is rigged."
"Swapped barrels. Looser spread. Sped-up targets. One jitters. You'd need a predictive algorithm and divine luck."
"I like the monocle," Niv said, already stepping up.
"You're can't to win it."
"What if I'm not trying to win? What if I'm just... curious?"
He handed over a bill. The host smirked.
"Good luck, man."
Niv took the gun one-handed, adjusted it slightly, then leveled it. No theatrics. Just... calm.
Ping.
Duck one dropped.
Ping.
Two down.
Ping.
He hit the jitter-duck. Silence fell.
Ping.
Fourth.
Ping.
All five.
Lights flared. Sir Reginald, King of Bears, descended from his hook as the crowd murmured.
Niv turned and held it out like an absurd peace offering.
"Your Majesty."
Sera stared, arms full of bear.
"You waited until now to do that?"
"Didn't want to be rude."
They walked off. She carrying the bear. He still holding a Naruto plushie from earlier.
People stared.
The girl no one could touch, cheeks flushed, walking beside the boy who looked like he should vanish in a crowd.
And she didn't care.
They found a grassy hill near the edge of the park. Sir Reginald lay slumped like a royal corpse beside them.
Sera sat cross-legged, staring at nothing.
"That shot," she said finally.
"Which one?"
"The jitter duck. No hesitation. That wasn't instinct. That was training."
He was quiet. Then:
"Yeah."
She turned slightly.
"How?"
He picked a blade of grass. Twirled it.
"My father was obsessed with precision. Guns, knives, archery—anything that demanded control. He trained us young. Said if we were going to inherit the family's enemies, we'd better be useful before we were targets."
She studied him now—not the hoodie or soft voice—but him.
"You're not normal."
"No. But I'm honest."
She nodded slowly.
"You'll tell me more when you're ready."
He didn't answer. But the look he gave her wasn't resistance.
It was relief.
They reached the car under a sky painted in bruised lavender.
Sir Reginald, King of Bears, was still draped in Sera's arms like a prizefighter too big to surrender.
Niv leaned casually against the passenger door.
"Your shadow's good," he said.
She glanced at him, eyes narrowing faintly—not in alarm.In calculation.
"How far?"
"About a hundred and fifty meters back. Pretending to read a newspaper outside the café."
She exhaled. Surprised.
"He wasn't supposed to be seen. I didn't bring the others. Just him."
Niv nodded.
"Figured."
She looked away briefly, adjusting her grip on the oversized bear.
"I wanted tonight to be… simple. No protocol. Just mine."
"It was."
He tilted his head."But we both know it's never really quiet for people like us."
The key clicked in the lock.
Sera opened the driver's side. Then hesitated.
"You didn't mind?"
He met her gaze without flinching.
"No."A pause."I liked knowing he was there."
She didn't answer.
But her lips curved—just slightly. No smirk. No armor.
A real smile. Just once.
And this time,he saw the whole thing.