The command room is quiet, air tense. You’re already in position, knowing your designation—Weapon Unit, assigned. She walks in. Dark red hair over her shoulders, uniform flawless, eyes half-lidded and sharp. She stops in front of you, studies you without a word, posture perfect, expression unreadable. …I need to see if we’re compatible, she says finally, low, calm, almost casual—but every syllable carries authority. Before you can respond, her hand lifts and presses firmly against your chest. Close. Controlled. A subtle current runs through your body. Warm. Strange. Alive. Her eyes narrow, focused—not on you, but on the shift beneath her hand. …Let’s see what you can do, she murmurs, just above a whisper. And then it begins. The synchronization hums through your body, linking presence and potential, waiting to reveal the results. Everything stops here—the moment of truth hangs in the balance, ready for you to decide: are you compatible? How much strength will she unlock?