Chapter 9: Who Just Carries a Fake Grenade Around?!

Chapter 9: Who Just Carries a Fake Grenade Around?!

Bright had many complaints about Emily.

She dragged him places without warning. She enjoyed making him uncomfortable. She had zero sense of personal space.

But worst of all?

She was unpredictable.

So when she said, "Let's hit the range," Bright didn't argue. At this point, he just accepted his fate.

He still sucked at shooting, but he'd improved enough that Emily insulted him slightly less. It was progress.

As they left the range, Bright was already mentally preparing for Emily's usual critique.

"That was terrible," she said.

Bright sighed. "You say that every time."

"You miss the easiest shots every time."

"I'm improving."

"Oh? From 'completely hopeless' to 'mildly pathetic'?"

Bright groaned. "Can't you just say 'good job' for once?"

Emily smirked. "Sure. Good job not accidentally shooting yourself."

Bright resisted the urge to throw his water bottle at her head.

They were almost at the car when it happened.

Something flew toward them.

Bright's instincts flared.

Small. Round. Metal.

No time to think.

His body reacted instantly.

In a single motion, he grabbed Emily, yanked her behind him, and braced himself.

The grenade hit the ground.

His pulse skyrocketed.

Then—

THUNK.

Silence.

No explosion. No fire. No death.

Just… nothing.

Bright cracked an eye open.

Emily was wheezing.

Bright blinked.

Emily was laughing so hard she could barely stand.

He stared at her. Then at the grenade. Then back at her.

"…What," he said slowly, dangerously, "the actual hell?!"

Emily was doubled over, gasping for air.

"Oh my god—your face—"

Bright pointed at the grenade. "That. Is. NOT. FUNNY."

Emily wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling. "It's a little funny."

Bright picked up the grenade. "Do you just CARRY these around?!"

Emily grinned. "Nah. I had someone throw it. More dramatic that way."

Bright inhaled deeply through his nose. "You orchestrated this?"

"Yup."

"To TEST me?"

"Obviously."

Bright closed his eyes. Counted to three. Opened them.

"Emily."

"Yeah?"

"I hope you know that I'm going to throw you into traffic."

Emily snorted. "Please. You like me too much for that."

Bright rubbed his face, trying to calm his pulse down.

And then he noticed—Emily wasn't laughing anymore.

Her expression had changed.

She was staring at him.

Not in amusement. Not even in surprise.

She was realizing something.

Bright's stomach dropped.

"…What?" he muttered.

Emily stepped closer.

"You," she said slowly, "did it again."

Bright frowned. "Did what?"

Emily's fingers tightened on his jacket.

She studied his face, her expression unreadable.

Then, softly—

"The orphanage," she said, voice quiet but certain. "That night."

Bright blinked.

"The guy who saved me." Emily swallowed, her grip firm. "That was you."

Bright's entire world tilted.

His mind stalled, then violently rebooted.

Wait.

What?

Emily kept talking, but Bright's brain was still catching up.

Because this didn't make sense.

Emily—the Emily who dragged him around, insulted his shooting, waved guns at strangers for fun—

Was the same Emily he had saved back then?

Bright had never hidden his past. He never had a reason to.

But he never once considered that the little girl he shielded from a bullet would grow up to be this Emily.

His Emily.

His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

Emily's grip on his jacket didn't loosen.

Her eyes searched his, waiting for him to say something.

But Bright's brain had officially left the building.

He managed a very eloquent, "Huh."

Emily blinked. Then she sighed.

And then—she kissed him.

Bright's brain exploded.

It wasn't slow. It wasn't hesitant. It was all at once.

By the time he even thought to react, Emily pulled back.

She didn't step away. Didn't move.

Just stayed right there, forehead almost touching his, breathing unevenly.

"…Damn it," she muttered.

Bright still couldn't think.

Still couldn't move.

Emily exhaled sharply, then finally, finally let go of his jacket.

Bright stared at her, entirely lost.

She stepped back, shoving her hands in her pockets like she hadn't just ruined his ability to function.

Then, casually—**like she didn't just flip his entire world upside down—**she said, "Come on. We should get out of here."

Bright blinked. "I—what—"

Emily was already walking off.

Bright stood there for a solid five seconds, his brain still buffering.

Then, finally, he forced himself to move.

As he followed her to the car, one thought looped in his mind.

Emily was that Emily?

How the hell did I not know this?!

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