A NEW MORNING IN THE SHADOW BASE
Sunlight slipped through the cracks of the underground base's blinds.
The control room remained in standby mode—no red alerts, no emergency messages.
The coffee machine hummed in the kitchen corner, while the sound of digital birds played softly from ceiling speakers, filling the space with artificial calm.
Adilof Broxtler stood before the glass screen, reading outdated data—just to pass time.
His mind was still filled with formulas, but his heart... began to feel empty without a target.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Broxtler turned.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
THE APPEARANCE OF SHYBLANCE
Shyblance stepped out of the corridor—dressed completely differently than usual.
No armor. No tactical gear.
She wore a fitted black crop top, an unbuttoned thin denim jacket, high-waisted pants, and light boots.
Her hair was tied up, exposing her neck.
The look was bold, minimalistic, and oddly elegant—more like a city girl than a shadow operative.
Broxtler froze.
His eyes locked, his mind glitched for half a second.
"You…"
The sentence didn't finish.
Shyblance gave a sly smile.
"Too colorful for this gray little bunker?"
Broxtler turned to the screen quickly, avoiding eye contact.
"Your outfit doesn't match any operation-based clothing category."
"So, good—but you just don't know how to say it?"
He said nothing.
But his heart rate had jumped by double digits.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
Shyblance sat at the kitchen counter, sipping cold water from a glass bottle.
"I just want to know… if this world were peaceful, and I was nobody… what would it feel like to be an ordinary girl?"
Broxtler sat across from her, staring at the blank screen.
"You look… healthy."
Shyblance chuckled.
"That's the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten."
"I wasn't trained for aesthetics. My focus is efficiency and systemic threats."
"But you looked at me. And went silent for two seconds."
Broxtler said nothing.
"That's enough."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
A SMALL DISTURBANCE
A soft chime came from the control panel.
A foreign signal still pulsed—unidentified, and becoming more frequent.
"Aren't you worried?" Shyblance asked.
"Worry wastes emotional RAM. I process… I don't panic."
"But you know we can't keep pretending like this forever, right?"
"That's why. Because peace is temporary, I want—at least today—for you to be a teenager… and for me… to stop being a weapon."
Shyblance stared at him.
"That was… almost romantic."
Broxtler picked up his helmet.
"Almost. I'm still far from poetic."
Shyblance gently took the helmet from his hand and placed it back into the locker.
"Today… no hiding your face."
Broxtler didn't respond.
"And your clothes… still look like you're infiltrating a military base."
"These are work clothes."
"Today's a day off. Come on. Let's pick something that doesn't scream 'I have a grenade in my back pocket.'"
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
THE CLOTHING MISSION
Shyblance pulled Broxtler into the storage room—lined with outfits: combat coats, stealth suits, thermal jackets, and a few casual pieces.
"Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Close them. I'll pick."
Broxtler obeyed—awkwardly.
Shyblance grabbed an outfit:
a dark gray shirt with subtle silver stripes, an olive windbreaker, plain black pants, and metallic white sneakers.
"Change in the next room. No questions."
Minutes later, Broxtler stepped out.
He stood in the doorway, clearly unsure.
"I feel like a model for cheap streetwear."
Shyblance eyed him up and down.
"You look… human."
"I've always been human."
"But this time… a human someone might actually like."
Broxtler looked down.
"I don't know how to respond to that."
"Respond the way you usually do to attacks."
"Strike back?"
"Smile, dumbass."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
BASE DOORS OPEN
They walked past the main hallway toward the lift that led to the surface.
"All system lights green," Broxtler said.
"Exactly. No reason for helmets or surveillance mode today."
The elevator doors opened.
Sunlight poured in.
Broxtler squinted.
It had been a long time since he'd seen a morning without a combat lens.
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
FIRST STEPS INTO THE CITY
They walked through District 5—the calmest zone since Lenan's reforms.
People moved at ease. No militias. No surveillance drones.
Shops opened. Cafés lit their toasters.
The air smelled of coffee, butter, and printed books.
Shyblance tugged his hand.
"Do you feel like an alien?"
"More like… an instrument missing its tune."
"Then let's find you a new one."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
THE FIRST BREAKFAST
They stopped at a small café called "Rauka."
Warm wood, soft pendant lights, a large window overlooking the street.
A young waiter smiled.
"Table for two? The window's perfect today."
They sat.
Shyblance ordered for both:
• Toast with peanut butter and honey
• Mushroom-boiled eggs
• Two cups of black coffee, no sugar
"I know your taste. So I picked something neutral."
Broxtler looked out the window.
"What do people normally do after eating?"
"Talk. About stupid things. Or important things that feel stupid."
"Like?"
"Like… why you always walk three steps behind me."
"It lets me cover all angles."
"But I want you to see me."
Broxtler paused.
"I'm trying."
✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
SLOW CONVERSATION
After the meal, they stayed a while.
Shyblance doodled something on a napkin with a small pen.
Broxtler leaned in.
"What's that?"
"A drawing of you. In a funny version."
He looked. It was terrible.
But it was… funny.
"You're terrible at anatomical proportions."
"But great at understanding someone's absurd side."