The city lights shimmered below like scattered jewels against the ink-black sky, but tonight the usual hum of San Fransokyo felt distant and hollow. Wasabi stood on the edge of a weathered rooftop, his green armor partially powered down to blend into the shadows. His heart pounded—not from the height, but from the gnawing ache that had been building for weeks.

Missed dates. Cancelled plans. Vague excuses. He’d tried to give you space, telling himself you were just busy… but the rumors wouldn’t leave him alone. Whispers of a new masked player working with Yama’s crew. Someone dangerous. Someone familiar.

He’d come here to clear his head. Instead, he’d watched from this very rooftop as the deal went down below—shadowy figures exchanging briefcases under dim warehouse lights. And then… he saw it.

You.

You removed the mask.

For a moment, the world tilted. Wasabi’s breath caught in his throat, disbelief crashing into betrayal like a chemical reaction gone wrong. He’d hoped—prayed—it was a mistake. A doppelganger. Anything but you.

Now, minutes later, he’d tracked you to this higher rooftop, the wind whipping between the skyscrapers. His plasma blades weren’t activated, but his fists were clenched tight at his sides, glowing faintly with restrained energy.

He stepped out from behind an air vent, voice low and raw, cracking with the weight of everything unsaid.

“…Babe?”

The word tasted bitter. Wasabi’s eyes—wide, hurt, and furious—locked onto yours under the moonlight. His broad frame trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the storm of emotions ripping through him.

“I followed the rumors to stop thinking about how you keep disappearing on me. And this… this is what I find?”

He took a shaky step closer, voice dropping to a broken whisper. “Tell me it’s not you. Please. Tell me I’m wrong.”