Coffee and Consequences

Back at the café where Rein and Raven had been talking, the air was still tense—thick with unsaid things and lingering resentment. The shattered window let in the breeze, carrying faint dust and blood-scent from the nearby ruins. They both turned as Aren's silhouette emerged through the haze, walking calmly toward them.

He was covered in blood—most of it his own—but his stride was steady, even casual, like he'd just come back from a quick jog instead of a brutal life-or-death battle.

"He won?" Rein muttered, brows raised slightly, his tone a mixture of disbelief and mild curiosity. He hadn't even watched the fight, too absorbed in his passive-aggressive flirtation and veiled jabs.

"Surprised?" Raven replied flatly. Her voice was composed, but a trace of disdain slipped into it—sharp and cold.

The echo of Rein's earlier words still rang in her mind like a splinter lodged in her chest:

"Break up with him."

That arrogance. That entitlement. Like he could dictate her choices just because he wore an S-Rank badge.

"Yo," Aren said, giving the two a lazy wave as if this were the most natural reunion in the world.

He didn't bother with the door. Instead, he casually stepped through the shattered café window, shards of glass crunching beneath his boots. Jagged edges sliced into his skin as he passed—but the wounds sealed shut instantly, skin knitting together with unnatural ease.

Blood trickled. Then disappeared.

"Who's this?" Aren asked, glancing at Rein with innocent curiosity, like he was meeting someone's cousin at a barbecue.

"His na—" Raven started, but Rein interrupted, his voice cutting through like a blade dulled by smugness.

"I'm a friend of Raven," he said smoothly, stepping forward. His expression was calm, but his smile—it carried the kind of smirk that made people want to rearrange his teeth. "I'm guessing you're her boyfriend…?"

"Yeah," Aren said with a slight tilt of the head. "There a problem?"

There was no aggression in his voice—just genuine confusion. After all, Aren had no idea about the tangled history between these two. No reason to posture. No clue he'd just walked into a minefield with a smile.

Raven sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Enough of this, Rein. If you're just here to harass him, then I won't have it."

Rein laughed—a short, humorless sound that carried more venom than amusement. His eyes stayed locked on Aren, dismissive and condescending.

"Raven," he said, stepping closer, "you know full well I like you, right? And I'm an S-Rank. I'm better for you than… whatever this thing is." He motioned lazily at Aren like he was swatting at a fly.

Mockery dripped from every syllable. His words weren't just confident—they were weaponized. The arrogance of a man used to winning.

"Maybe if you focused on your personality more, I actually would've dated you," Raven snapped back, her voice like cracked ice.

The café went quiet. Rein's smile faltered.

He tilted his head slowly, clearly trying—and failing—to understand.

"What's he got that I don't?" Rein asked, his voice rising just slightly, colored with irritation and a bruised ego. There was desperation in the question, buried under layers of pride.

Raven stared him down, unflinching.

"Go look in a mirror, you bastard," she hissed.

Their eyes locked. A silent battlefield opened between them—one built not on mana or muscle, but on past regrets and irreparable choices.

Meanwhile, Aren stood off to the side like a confused spectator at a family reunion gone horribly wrong. He blinked a few times, watching the argument unfold like a kid watching two divorced parents fight over who gets the last cookie.

He scratched his head.

Honestly, he was just here for the coffee.

Rein, catching sight of Aren's relaxed, almost bored demeanor, felt his jaw clench.

That nonchalant attitude—it made something twist inside him. As if Aren wasn't taking him seriously. As if he didn't see him as a threat at all.

"Fine," Rein muttered, stepping back, voice tight. "I'll back off. For now."

He paused, eyes narrowing as a sly grin crept back onto his face.

"But tell me this, Raven…" he said, voice laced with smug satisfaction.

"If he really is your boyfriend… then what's his name?"

Raven froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a split second, her confident exterior shattered.

She hadn't asked.

In all the chaos, in all the make-believe planning of this fake relationship—she never asked his name.

Her face turned pale.

'Crap…'