Chapter Text
The Commission boardroom smelled of polished wood and politics. Keigo Takami sat at the long oval table with his back pressed lazily into the chair, arms folded across his chest as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. On the inside, though, his stomach knotted in that old, familiar way he remembered from interrogations.
The war had ended years ago, but the Commission hadn’t changed; they still pulled strings like puppeteers, dressing up their games as strategy. He’d traded wings for a title, feathers for shackles, and yet here he was, smiling like it didn’t bother him.
Across the table, the chairwoman shuffled papers with a decisive snap. “Public perception has plateaued,” she said, eyes cutting sharp and cold toward Keigo. “You’ve lost traction with the people. The nation needs to see stability. They need to believe in heroes again.”
Keigo cocked an eyebrow. Here we go. “And I’m guessing that’s where the sales pitch comes in, huh?”
She smiled, predatory. “Precisely. You need a partner. A public one.”
For once, Keigo’s mask slipped. He sat forward, jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”
“You are the Commission’s Director of Public Safety. You represent order, control. Yet the media portrays you as detached and dispassionate. Some even say you look… lonely.” She said the word like it was a weakness. “We’ll counter that. You’ll be seen with someone, consistently. A relationship to showcase strength, devotion, hope.”
Keigo barked out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “So, you want me in a leash and a collar? Cute.”
The door opened before the chairwoman could reply.
She walked in.
[Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Mid-twenties, rising pro hero, flame-hot reputation for reckless saves and disobedience in the field. Keigo had read her file more times than he cared to admit, mostly because it made the Commission seethe. They hated that she didn’t fall in line. She was adored by the public and resented by bureaucrats.
And now she was glaring straight at him like he was the last man she’d ever choose to share air with.
“No.” Her voice was ice. She didn’t even wait to sit down. “I heard enough outside. Whatever this is, I’m not interested.”
“[Y/N],” the chairwoman warned. “This is not optional.”
Her eyes cut across the room, pinning Keigo like a blade. “You’re serious? Him?”
Keigo leaned back in his chair, smirk tugging his mouth. “Careful, dove. Say it with a little more disgust and I might think you actually mean it.”
Her lip curled. “You’re a puppet. The commission mouthpiece in feathers. You think I want to play girlfriend to that?”
The word stung more than he let show. Puppet. He’d called himself worse, but it was different hearing it from her mouth. Different because she wasn’t wrong.
The chairwoman’s voice sliced through the tension. “The two of you will appear together at all scheduled public events. Dates, interviews, missions where applicable. The narrative will be romance, an ideal partnership between a respected veteran and a beloved rising hero. Questions?”
Keigo forced a chuckle. “Oh, just a small one. Do I at least get dinner before I’m fucked?”
[Y/N] slammed her palms on the table. “This is insane. You can’t force us to…”
“Your contracts disagree,” the chairwoman said smoothly. “You’ll play your parts. The nation needs this.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Keigo could hear the faint tick of the clock on the wall, the rustle of [Y/N]’s breathing, sharp and furious.
He smiled, thin and sharp. “Guess we’re dating, sweetheart.”
Her glare could have cut glass. “Touch me and I’ll break your hand.”
***
The first appearance came faster than either of them expected.
Two days later, the Commission staged it: a “casual” outing to a downtown café. Paparazzi were already waiting, tipped off with delightful precision. The plan was simple: walk in together, hands brushing, smile, sell the fantasy.
Keigo arrived first, wearing civilian clothes designed to scream approachable: black jeans, a loose hoodie, sunglasses he didn’t need but wore anyway. He leaned against the lamppost outside the café, posture lazy but eyes sharp. Cameras clicked from across the street.
She appeared a few minutes later. Her chin high, sunglasses hiding the fire burning in her eyes. The crowd noticed immediately, people gasped, pointed, phones came up. She looked immaculate, every inch the heroine the public adored. But when she took off her sunglasses and her eyes met Keigo’s, he saw nothing but loathing.
She stopped in front of him. “Don’t you dare enjoy this.”
Keigo tilted his head, lips quirking into a half-smile. “Oh, I’m already enjoying it. You’re glaring at me like you want to kill me. Makes for great chemistry shots.”
Flashbulbs went off. The press shouted questions. “Director Takami! Hero [Y/H/N]! Are you together?”
[Y/N] froze. Then, with visible effort, she let her hand slide by his, fingers grazing his lightly, before slipping her hand into his.
It was supposed to be staged. Mechanical. Just a PR gesture. But the moment her palm pressed against his, Keigo felt it…the spark. Heat shot through him, unwelcome and undeniable. She was smaller than him but strong, her grip tense, nails biting faintly into his skin. She held him like she wanted to break him, and he had to fight the urge to squeeze back.
The crowd roared.
Cameras exploded in light.
To everyone watching, they looked perfect, two heroes entwined, smiling for the world.
Only Keigo knew her hand trembled faintly. Only [Y/N] knew his thumb brushed against her knuckles, not out of duty, but instinct.
“Smile,” he murmured low enough only she could hear, his lips curving into his trademark smirk. “The world’s watching, baby bird.”
She forced her smile. But her mouth spat venum, “I’ll strangle you the second they’re gone.”
Keigo laughed softly, tilting his head closer so it looked like he was whispering sweet nothings. “Guess it’ll make our next appearance even spicier.”
The flashes didn’t stop. Reporters shouted questions. And in the middle of it, their hands stayed awkwardly locked.
Keigo realized then that the Commission hadn’t just chained him. They’d thrown him into the fire.
And he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to get out.