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Izumi studies himself in the mirror. The gray uniform fits him perfectly, and the cut is flattering, the jacket cinched at the waist and the narrow slacks emphasizing the length of his legs. He could be wearing Hyrein's clothes, except for two key differences: the black and red collar still locked tightly around his neck, preventing him from using triggers or expending trion outside of supervised training, and…
“I’ve noticed your people’s uniforms aren’t all exactly the same as yours,” Izumi observes, as the tailor takes his measurements. “Am I allowed to make a request?”
“Oh?” Hyrein sounds amused. “What would that be?”
Just as he’d asked, Izumi’s jacket is longer than Hyrein’s, flared out at the waist and coming down to the middle of his thighs, slit in the sides to allow more freedom of movement. It’s a familiar silhouette. If he squints, ignores the colors, and imagines black and red–
“What do you think?” They’ve changed into the new uniforms, and Tachikawa grins at them proudly. “Cool, right? They did it exactly like I wanted.”
“Cool,” Izumi agrees enthusiastically, fastening the last clasp on his coat. “We look badass.”
“We look like cosplayers,” Kyousuke murmurs, studying himself in the mirror, though his neutral expression has not given way to displeasure, and Izumi thinks he’s probably fine with it.
He spins on his heel, enjoying the way the coat flares out around his hips, and aims finger guns at Kyousuke with both hands. “Asteroid!”
Kyousuke places the back of his hand across his forehead like he’s swooning, his expression unchanged. “Oh no, I’m dead.”
Tachikawa hooks an arm around each of their necks and pulls them in close in front of the mirror, grinning at their reflections. “We’re an official squad now,” he declares. “Won’t be long now until our first match. You ready?”
“Are you ready?” A voice jolts him out of his reverie. “Izumi?”
Izumi turns as Hyrein enters the room. “Yes, Lord Hyrein,” he says. “I’m finished.”
“Hm. It looks good on you.” Hyrein nods approvingly, and shakes out the bundle of black cloth in his hands, which turns out to be a black-and-red cloak much like his own. Stepping forward, he settles it across Izumi’s shoulders and fastens it at his throat, taking a few moments to adjust it to his liking. “There, the finishing touch. Now you look the part. You’re a proper soldier of Aftokrator, Izumi.”
Izumi meets his eyes in the mirror and smiles easily. He’s learned by now how to let the part of him which preens at the flattery be all that shows on the surface. “Yes, Captain.”
No. I don't belong to Aftokrator. Squint and ignore the colors, and Izumi can still see the shape of himself in the mirror. It’s what he’d wanted - his own secret rebellion, a reminder to himself, a tribute to Tachikawa Kei.
I’m Izumi Kouhei of Tachikawa Squad, and you will never be my captain.