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The alarm clock went off at exactly five am, just as it did every morning. Reze silenced it before it could ring twice, and was immediately out of bed. This was simply the way she was, quick to fall asleep, and quick to rise in the morning. It was one of many remnants from the training she went through in her childhood. A thousand little reminders that occasionally made this normal life she was given a little more intolerable if she thought too hard about them.
So she didn't. Mostly.
She padded across the small apartment, the floor cool under her bare feet. The room was neat, maybe overly so. Bed made with tight corners, everything in its place. When she was initially allowed to live on her own, she made an effort to let herself have a messy room for the first time in her life. This did not last, and she ended up falling back into her old habits again. She still hasn't quite been able to kick them.
She filled the kettle, the hiss of water against metal filling the silence. The city outside was still half-asleep; faint hums of traffic, a crow cawing somewhere on a telephone line, the chatter of people occasionally passing by on the streets below. When the kettle began to go off, she poured the water into her mug and watched the steam rise.
Tea was what she usually went for in the morning. She did enjoy coffee, but she had lost her taste for it. Too many memories, none of which were pleasant.
She sipped it standing by the window, watching the sunlight bleed slowly over the rooftops. For a fleeting second, she thought of how peaceful it looked. How still everything could be. It was one of the pleasures of living as she did now. Being able to truly enjoy the beauty of the world around her, knowing she was free at long last. She had to remind herself of that more often than she liked. She was free. Her old life had ended, and she had a new life where she could be a normal teenage girl.
She was free.
Her school uniform hung on the door. She slipped into it with the same practiced efficiency she once used to check weapons when she was younger. Crisp motions, no wasted effort. Hair tied back, collar straight, bag over her shoulder.
She paused by the mirror before leaving. The girl reflected there was clean, composed, polite. The role she would play today, as she did every day that she had school, was Reze the high school girl who worked part-time at a café and lived alone in a cheap apartment.
She smiled to test the mask she had slipped on. It was pretty convincing.
The morning air was cool as she stepped outside, cold enough to wake her fully. The streets were empty but for a few delivery trucks and office workers heading to early shifts. She walked with her hands on the straps of her bag, which she kept slung over one shoulder, letting the hum of the city settle around her like a familiar rhythm.
It still amazed her sometimes. It was all so ordinary. The sound of birds, the rustle of wind through the trees, the murmur of people with nowhere urgent to be. No one watching her, no one giving orders to follow, no missions. Just life, simple and unremarkable.
She wanted so badly to let herself enjoy it.
But old instincts didn’t die easily. Every sudden noise made her head turn. Every car that slowed beside her made her shoulders tense. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, if anything came for her she could beat it and run away again if she had to. It was just habit. Training hardwired deep into her bones.
Kishibe, one of the Captains at Public Safety, was the one who made all of this possible. Her freedom, her new name, the quiet life she’d been granted. He’d handled the paperwork, arranged the transfer, even convinced Public Safety to let her go. At least, that is what he claimed. Reze was pretty sure that he did all of this under their noses, but she hadn't the faintest clue as to why. All her life she had been a weapon. She was not used to people not using her.
A part of her was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to appear at the door to her apartment one day, and tell her that if she wanted to keep her life, and what connections she had made, she would do as he said.
Not that this would work very well. She hadn't had much luck connecting to her fellow students at school.
It was a bit hard to feel as if she had anything in common with them.
That, or the Soviets would somehow find her and try to drag her away back to Russia. They would use some devil contracts specifically chosen to weaken her, put a collar on her neck, fly her back home and lock her in a concrete room until they needed her again.
But months passed, and no one came.
She was enrolled in school. Found part-time work. Learned how to budget, to cook, to exist quietly among people who didn’t know who, or what, she had been.
Everything she had ever wanted had been handed to her seemingly with nothing expected in return.
And yet, even now, there were moments like this. Walking through the pale morning light, listening to the city wake up, when she felt like an impostor, living a life that was not truly meant for her.
A group of students passed her, laughing about something trivial. She smiled faintly, pretending she could understand the ease of it. She wondered if Denji ever had mornings like this, wherever he was. If he ever got to wake up without blood on his hands, without someone waiting for him to fight.
The thought tightened in her chest before she could stop it. She pushed it away, focusing on the sound of her shoes against the pavement.
She’d told herself more than once that she didn’t deserve to think about him. That whatever bond they’d shared had ended long ago. Once in the alleyway outside of the Crossroads, and again when she was forced to fight him at Makima's behest.
Even so. She could not help but imagine a different ending to their story when things were quiet. One where they both got to live together, to be normal people.
She just missed him. Ultimately however, thinking about him was painful, and so she ignored it as best as she could, as she did with her plethora of other painful memories.
The school gates came into view just as the sun had fully risen, the light casting long shadows across the concrete. Students filtered in from every direction, some chatting animatedly, others yawning into their sleeves. Reze slipped into the current with practiced ease, nodding politely when greeted, smiling when spoken to.
Her classmates knew her as the foreign transfer student from the Soviet Union, a quiet but friendly girl with good grades. She’d built the persona carefully, a patchwork of politeness and mild humor—approachable, but not too interesting. Enough to be liked, not enough to be known.
She changed shoes at the lockers, slipping into the soft school slippers, and followed a few of her classmates up the stairwell. They were chatting about something she couldn’t quite follow. Glimpses of lives that she couldn't really relate to. She smiled anyway when one of them turned to include her.
“Reze-chan, you should come with us after class,” one of the girls said brightly. “We’re going to the arcade again. You have to try the rhythm games!”
“Oh, I can't,” Reze said, her tone light, her expression perfectly pleasant. “I have work today. Maybe some other time?.”
“Aw, lame. We'll get you to join us one of these days, Reze!” the girl laughed, looping her arm around Reze’s for a brief, friendly tug.
She smiled back, the motion automatic.
They walked together to class, and Reze listened to their conversation. More out of a sense of curiosity than true interest, admittedly. They talked about upcoming exams, crushes, weekend plans. She envied how small their worlds were, how small those worlds had always been for them. How the worst thing that could happen to them was a bad grade or an awkward confession. Even now, she couldn't truly feel as if this was the case for her.
When they reached the classroom, she took her seat by the window. She always picked window seats. They gave her something to focus on when the chatter became too much. The morning sun glinted off the schoolyard, and she watched as students hurried in before the bell rang.
Class passed without much issue, and when the lunch bell rang, a few of her classmates invited her to eat with them on the rooftop. She accepted, as she always did. It was better to just go along with what they wanted than it was to purposefully isolate herself. They sat in a small circle, unwrapping bento boxes and laughing over small things. Funny teachers, embarrassing moments, nonsense that made them giggle until they could barely breathe.
Reze ate her simple meal (rice, egg, pickled vegetables) listening in more than she spoke. When she did chime in, her words were measured, kind. The girls adored her for it, for being the calm, understanding one. It came naturally. She’d learned long ago how to read people, how to give them what they wanted from her.
Between their laughter, she caught herself wondering if she could ever truly be one of them. If this calm, gentle routine was what happiness was supposed to feel like, or if it was always going to feel like she was simply performing a role.
As the day went on, everything blurred into sameness: lectures, bells, chatter, repeat. When classes finally ended, she packed her bag and walked out with the rest, waving goodbye when others did. On the surface, she blended in perfectly.
But as soon as she stepped beyond the school gates, she allowed that invisible mask slipped slightly. The smile softened. The stiffness left her shoulders.
The air felt different outside, now that she was alone again, sharper somehow. She took a deep breath, allowing it to fill her lungs before heading toward the café where she worked evenings. The day had gone smoothly, as it always did.
No one suspected a thing.
Only, why would they? What would they need to suspect anything of her? She really is a high school student like the rest of them. She really is here. She can be herself without having to worry about anything.
And yet, deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still undercover. Living in a mission with no objective, no end in sight, pretending to be someone who’d never existed in the first place.
It didn't matter. She had work. She rushed home to get into her uniform, and slip on her next mask.
By the time Reze reached the café, the afternoon sun had started to set. The sign above the door flickered faintly. Café Florelle, a small, cozy place tucked between a florist and a bookstore. She liked it here. It was quiet, unassuming, and the regulars rarely bothered her much.
The faint chime of the bell above the door greeted her as she stepped inside. The air was warm, thick with the comforting scent of roasted beans and freshly baked pastries. The low hum of a radio played something soft and old-fashioned behind the counter.
Kobeni was already there.
She was balancing a tray of clean cups, her expression as tense as if she were diffusing a bomb. Her uniform, a white blouse and brown apron, was perfectly in place, yet she somehow looked on the verge of a breakdown anyway.
“Oh, Reze! You’re early,” Kobeni said, startled, nearly dropping a cup before setting the tray down. “I, uh, thought you had school today.”
“I did,” Reze replied, hanging her bag in the staff locker and tying her apron neatly around her waist. “But I finished early. I like to get here before the rush.”
“The rush,” Kobeni repeated weakly. “Right. The rush...”
The two of them shared a look—one of quiet, mutual understanding. Neither particularly liked the afterschool rush.
Reze began setting out menus and wiping tables while Kobeni brewed the first pot of coffee. It was the kind of rhythm that came naturally: two quiet girls moving through small routines, saying little, keeping the peace through action rather than words. The older manager wasn’t in yet, which made the atmosphere even calmer.
For a while, there was only the sound of the coffee machine hissing and the faint chatter of early customers.
There did not end up being much of a rush, thankfully, and so Reze and Kobeni were left to chat amongst each other.
Kobeni leaned against the counter, exhaling softly as she wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Guess today’s one of the quiet ones,” she murmured, eyes flicking nervously toward the window. The afternoon light slanted across the café’s wooden floorboards, painting the walls with gold.
Reze glanced up from the table she was cleaning. “You almost sound disappointed,” she said lightly.
Kobeni let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, no, not at all! It’s just… you know how it is. Sometimes it’s so slow that I start worrying we’ll get a sudden rush all at once. Like… Boom, ten people coming through the door at the same time.”
Reze smiled faintly, folding the rag over her hand. “You really do worry too much, don’t you?”
“It’s not on purpose,” Kobeni said quickly, biting her lip. “It’s just… habit. I can’t help it.”
Reze’s eyes softened at that.
"Yeah, I guess I get it."
For a moment, silence settled between them again, broken only by the quiet hum of the espresso machine. Reze went behind the counter to help with the dishes, sleeves rolled up, the warm water fogging the clear glasses they used for iced coffees. Kobeni watched her work with a degree of suspicion she reserved for anyone who seemed a little too composed.
“You know, you’re always so calm,” Kobeni said after a moment, fiddling with a napkin dispenser. “Even when we get a rush or someone complains about their order, you just smile and fix it. I don’t get how you do it.”
Reze tilted her head. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” Kobeni said. “I mean, I get nervous just thinking about making a mistake. You just… you look like nothing gets to you.”
Reze smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve had a lot of practice, I guess.”
Something in her tone made Kobeni pause. The other girl didn’t push, it wasn’t in her nature, but there was a flicker of curiosity.
Ultimately, Kobeni simply nodded, accepting the answer and going back to work. She was comfortable with the distance between them, and saw no real need to close that particular gap.
They went back to work, their small tasks filling the quiet. The café had a gentle rhythm to it, a rhythm Reze found almost hypnotic. Coffee, dishes, customers, smiles. It was all so normal. Sometimes she could almost forget that this wasn’t who she used to be. That she hadn’t spent most of her life killing people like the ones she now served coffee.
Outside, the sky was deepening into evening, the glow of streetlights flickering to life beyond the window.
As Reze polished the counter, she caught her reflection in the glass. Smiling, calm, composed. A girl who belonged here. A mask so well-made it almost fooled even her.
Then her gaze lost focus, and her mind drifted somewhere far away.
She wondered what Denji was doing right now. Whether he was still fighting. Whether he’d ever managed to find something like this, a quiet job, an ordinary life.
Whether he missed her too.
The bell above the door chimed, and she turned automatically, mask sliding back into place.
“Welcome,” she said warmly.
The bus ride home was long and quiet. Reze sat near the window, forehead resting against the cool glass as the city rolled by in fragments of neon and shadow. The chatter of the few remaining passengers was soft and indistinct , a college student talking into her phone, an old man asleep with his head bowed, the hum of the streetlights flickering past. Her body ached faintly. She had smiled for customers, laughed with Kobeni about their miserable tips, and pretended for twelve hours straight that she was just another girl. A girl who went to school, had a normal job, and no worries outside of these things.
She supposed she actually was now.
When she reached her stop, the night air bit against her skin. Her apartment was a five-minute walk from the bus stop , a little box of a place tucked above a laundromat. She unlocked the door, flicked on the light, and was greeted by the quiet hum of her refrigerator and the faint creak of the wooden floorboards. Everything was neatly arranged: books stacked by the bed, a small potted plant by the window, a single cup drying beside the sink.
She stood there for a while, staring at it all. It was hers. This life, this quiet, this room that nobody else ever entered. The kind of life she used to dream about.
She slipped off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it neatly by the door. Then she made her way to the bathroom, where she caught her reflection in the mirror. The faint circles under her eyes, the practiced softness in her expression.
She smiled at herself, just faintly.
“Good job today,” she whispered to herself, voice barely audible.
She turned the light off, and in the dark, her reflection vanished.
In her bedroom, she changed into an oversized T-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. Then, as she lay back and stared at the ceiling, her mind betrayed her. The sound of a faint laugh. The scent of saltwater. A boy with messy hair and a dumb, earnest smile.
Denji.
She closed her eyes tightly, but his face stayed there, shimmering behind her eyelids.
Her breathing slowed. The hum of the city faded.