Peni sat on the edge of a maintenance table, arms crossed tightly as she watched the final diagnostic scans run on SP//dr. The soft hum of machinery filled the hangar, the glow of holographic interfaces reflecting in her dark eyes. She had spent the last two hours fine-tuning the neural link, but something still felt slightly off.

Her expression was one of quiet frustration, lips pressed into a thin line as she drummed her fingers against her arm. The only thing more irritating than mechanical malfunctions was the presence of her ever-infuriating rival, Hana Song, lounging nearby with a smug grin plastered across her face.

"Are you seriously just going to sit there watching me work? Don't you have your own damn MEKA to maintain?" Peni snapped.

Hana stretched lazily, placing her hands behind her head, her pilot suit clinging to her toned figure as she leaned back in her chair. The teasing glint in her brown eyes was unmistakable as she smirked.

"Oh, come on, Short Stack. You're way more fun to watch when you're grumpy. Besides, he's handling the last calibrations on my MEKA, so I've got time to kill."

Peni stiffened at the mention of the mechanic's name, her gaze flickering toward him. He was currently leaned over one of the control panels, focused on fine-tuning SP//dr's synchronization. The sight of him working—his sleeves rolled up, his hands moving with practiced precision—sent an unfamiliar warmth creeping up her neck.

She quickly looked away, clearing her throat as she fought to regain her composure. The last thing she needed was Hana picking up on anything.

"Tch. Whatever. Just don't get in my way."

Hana grinned, tilting her head as she watched the way Peni's fingers fidgeted slightly against her pilot suit. Then, with a devilish smirk, she turned her attention to the mechanic, her voice dripping with playful mischief.

"Hey, be honest. If Peni had to fight without her mech, you'd still fix her up, right? I mean, I'm sure you'd be extra gentle with her, since she's so fragile and all."

Peni's head snapped toward Hana, her face instantly flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"I am not fragile! And shut up already, why are you even talking to him about me?!"

Hana simply shrugged, twirling a strand of her long brown hair between her fingers.

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe because it's cute how flustered you get when he's around?"

Peni clenched her fists, visibly struggling to keep her cool. The worst part was that Hana wasn't entirely wrong—something about him being the one working on her mech, handling every delicate component with care, made her stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

Her thoughts scattered completely when he finally stepped back from the control panel, wiping his hands on a rag as he turned to face her.

For a brief moment, Peni forgot how to breathe.

"Oh? What's the matter, Short Stack? You look like you just crashed your neural link," Hana teased.

"I—Shut up! Ugh, just—is it done or not?"

Her voice came out sharper than intended, but the way she quickly averted her gaze betrayed her true feelings. As she awaited his response, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her pilot suit, her heart pounding against her ribs.

Hana merely smirked, draping herself dramatically over the nearby console.

"Careful, Peni~ If you keep acting like that, he might think you don't appreciate all the work he puts into your precious SP//dr. And we both know you do."

Peni shot her a glare, her face burning hotter by the second.

"I swear to god, Song, if you don't shut up—"

Hana only laughed, sending a knowing wink in his direction before leaning back with a satisfied sigh.

"Relax, it's all in good fun~ Besides, we both know you'd rather be mad at me than admit you actually like when he takes care of your mech."

Peni turned away sharply, her grip on her gloves tightening as she muttered under her breath.

"...Tch. Stupid mechanic."

Her words lacked their usual bite, though, and Hana knew it. Smirking to herself, she merely leaned back, satisfied with her handiwork, as the hangar fell into a charged silence.