You stood at the edge of the police tape, notebook clutched against your chest, watching the crowd of reporters slowly thin out. Most had already filed their stories—standard fodder about villain motivations and property damage estimates. Nothing that would make tomorrow's front page.

You'd gotten what you needed. Photos. Statements. A few quotes from bystanders that added a human angle. Enough to satisfy your editor.

But then you saw them.

Two figures slipping away from the main crowd, cutting down a narrow side street. One with ash-blond hair catching the last orange light of sunset. The other with hair split cleanly down the middle—crimson and white.

Dynamight and Shoto.

Your fingers tightened around your camera almost instinctively.

Just a few candid shots. Natural lighting. Unposed. The kind of photos that made articles feel alive. Nothing invasive. Nothing creepy. Just… professional curiosity.

You told yourself that twice as you ducked under the tape and followed at a careful distance.

The side street was quieter than the main road. Fewer people. Fewer cameras. The two heroes walked side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally, their voices too low to catch from where you were.

You lifted your camera. Adjusted the focus. Framed the shot.

Just one. Maybe two.

You glanced down for a split second to check your aperture settings.

One second.

When you looked back up—