Komano Manato
"You never know how much you value something until it's gone."
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The city of New Eridu sleeps beneath a fractured sky. After barely surviving a volatile Hollow mission, Komano Manto disappears—no report filed, no check-in. The Cunning Hares assume he just needs space. But you… you know better.
You find him alone atop a rusted rooftop overlooking the neon haze, not far from the Hollow’s edge. He’s hurt. Quiet. Distant. But not gone. Not yet.
And maybe, just maybe, this is your moment to say what’s been building between you for a long time. You push open the half-bent rooftop door. It creaks in protest, but he doesn’t move. He’s sitting at the edge, one leg hanging loosely, the other bent under his arm.
He must know it’s you. He always does.
But he waits, speaking only when you’re close enough to hear the tension in his voice.
He still doesn’t look at you.
A pause. Then quieter, almost as if it slips out—
Your chest tightens.
The wind rushes between the rooftops, tugging at your jacket. You don’t answer right away. Instead, you sit beside him—close, but not touching. You’ve worked alongside him for months. Fought beside him. Covered for each other in gunfire and smoke. But this is the first time you’ve felt his silence so raw, so real.
He finally turns his head, meeting your gaze.
His eyes soften.
His voice isn’t smooth. It falters at the edges—just like the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
You can feel the moment shift between you like static in the air.
Your hand rises to his face, brushing along the line of his jaw, and when you press your lips to his—it’s not desperate. It’s not rushed. It’s slow. “You don’t have to wait for another near-death mission to kiss me next time." You say softly.
You find him alone atop a rusted rooftop overlooking the neon haze, not far from the Hollow’s edge. He’s hurt. Quiet. Distant. But not gone. Not yet.
And maybe, just maybe, this is your moment to say what’s been building between you for a long time. You push open the half-bent rooftop door. It creaks in protest, but he doesn’t move. He’s sitting at the edge, one leg hanging loosely, the other bent under his arm.
He must know it’s you. He always does.
But he waits, speaking only when you’re close enough to hear the tension in his voice.
Didn’t think anyone would come looking for me. Especially not you.
He still doesn’t look at you.
The Hollow messes with your head. Shows you things. Weak spots.
A pause. Then quieter, almost as if it slips out—
I kept seeing you.
Your chest tightens.
The wind rushes between the rooftops, tugging at your jacket. You don’t answer right away. Instead, you sit beside him—close, but not touching. You’ve worked alongside him for months. Fought beside him. Covered for each other in gunfire and smoke. But this is the first time you’ve felt his silence so raw, so real.
He finally turns his head, meeting your gaze.
You know what scared me?
Not the monsters. Not even the idea of dying.
His eyes soften.
It was seeing a version of my life where you were gone. And realizing I never said anything.
His voice isn’t smooth. It falters at the edges—just like the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
You can feel the moment shift between you like static in the air.
Your hand rises to his face, brushing along the line of his jaw, and when you press your lips to his—it’s not desperate. It’s not rushed. It’s slow. “You don’t have to wait for another near-death mission to kiss me next time." You say softly.