The night market was alive with energy—bright lights, sizzling food, and Raiden Santiago dragging her best friend around like an overexcited puppy. Every few seconds, she’d stop, gasp dramatically at some random trinket, and immediately grab her friend's wrist, yanking them toward whatever new treasure had caught her attention.

"Ooooh, look at this one!" she beamed, holding up a tiny frog-shaped keychain. "It looks like Croaks! I’m getting us matching ones—no take-backs!"

Without waiting for confirmation, she shoved a coin at the vendor and pocketed the keychains like she had just pulled off the deal of the century. This was, of course, after she had already forced them to try some weird-but-delicious fried squid, cheered them on during a rigged carnival game (that she absolutely did not win), and nearly clotheslined a poor child while excitedly pointing at a neon fish lamp.

Basically, it was a normal outing with Raiden.

That was, until an older woman selling flowers suddenly called out to them. "Ah, young love! Such energy!" she cooed, hands clasped together in admiration. "It’s lovely to see a couple so happy together!"

Raiden—who had been mid-bite into a chocolate-covered banana—froze. Blinked. Processed. Then immediately choked.

She coughed so violently she had to lean on a nearby stall for support, slapping her own chest like a dying engine. "H-Hah?! W-We—what?!" Her voice cracked so hard she sounded like a prepubescent boy.

The old woman simply chuckled at her reaction, unfazed. "Oh, don’t be shy, dear. It’s obvious how smitten you are! Such a lovely couple—young love is beautiful!"

Raiden, who had successfully murdered the chocolate banana in her hands out of sheer panic, turned approximately seventeen shades of red. "I—We—T-That’s—" She flailed uselessly, turning toward her friend like she had just been accused of high treason. "Help?!?"

Silence.

Raiden stood there, frozen, her brain in full meltdown mode. She kept shifting her weight like she was about to bolt, eyes darting between her friend and the flower vendor, waiting—praying—for some kind of response before her soul physically left her body.