This time I will protect them I won't be a coward

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Denki lost track of how many times he’d jumped at the terrifying scenes flashing on the screen. His heart raced with every loud noise and grotesque image, and he swore he could feel Chisaki silently enjoying his misery. The man didn’t flinch once—of course, he wouldn’t.

Suddenly, the word INTERMISSION appeared in bold letters on the screen, and the theater lights flooded the room, breaking the oppressive darkness. Denki blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. His whole body felt tense, like a tightly coiled spring that refused to relax.

From the corner of his eye, Chisaki glanced at him, his posture as calm and composed as ever. The man studied Denki with his cold, calculating gaze, noting his pale face and trembling hands. He quirked an eyebrow, his voice breaking the awkward silence.

“You’re so quiet.”

Denki stiffened, turning to glare at him. “Do you want me to meow?” he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Chisaki tilted his head, an amused glint flickering in his topaz eyes. “Haa, Asterope-kun, your expression looks like you’re being held at gunpoint. Relax, will you?” He paused for a moment as if considering something, then added, “It’s not like I’m going to do anything.”

Denki clenched his teeth, muttering through gritted words, “Okay. I. Will. Try. To. Relax.” He sank back into the plush recliner seat, arms crossed and brow furrowed in annoyance. Chisaki’s impassive stare only made him huff louder.

Chisaki’s eyes wrinkled slightly at the corners of his mask, a shadow of amusement crossing his face. Something about Denki’s behavior—the combination of sarcasm, irritation, and vulnerability—reminded him of a grumpy cat. It was a distant memory, but for a moment, it tugged at the edges of something buried deep within him.

He leaned back in his seat, redirecting his focus to the screen ahead. Denki, meanwhile, couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. His fingers twitched, scratching nervously at his arms. He wanted to call someone—anyone—but his body felt paralyzed, as though invisible eyes were fixed on him, monitoring his every move.

That familiar feeling crept in again: a bird trapped in a cage. His chest tightened at the thought, and he forced himself to look straight ahead, trying to appear composed.

The lights dimmed once more, and the movie resumed from where it had left off. Denki swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready.

The climax scenes were relentless, filled with grotesque imagery and bone-chilling sounds. Denki squeaked in fear more than once, covering his face with his hands. He peeked cautiously through his fingers, hoping the worst was over—only for another horrifying scene to jolt him out of his seat.

This time, without thinking, Denki’s hand shot out, grabbing Chisaki’s gloved hand and clutching it tightly. His nails dug into the fabric, but he didn’t care. He clung to that small anchor, desperate to ground himself amidst the chaos unraveling on screen.

Chisaki glanced down at their joined hands but didn’t pull away. Instead, his voice was low and measured as he said, “You can hold my hand until the movie ends.”

Denki blinked up at him, startled by the unexpected offer. He managed a weak, teasing smile. “Aww, I didn’t know you were such a gentleman—”

His words faltered as his gaze drifted back to the screen. The grotesque image of a mad doctor sewing together an abomination filled the room, the sounds of dripping blood and tearing flesh amplified by the theater’s surround sound. The camera zoomed in on the blood splattering across the operating table. Just as Denki thought it couldn’t get worse, a ghostly figure appeared out of nowhere, slapping the doctor so hard his glasses went flying.

Denki’s lip twitched. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The absurdity of the scene only heightened his frayed nerves, and he instinctively buried his face against Chisaki’s gloved hand. He peeked through his fingers, trying to steel himself against the mounting dread.

Out of the corner of his eye, something flashed. His breath hitched. It was faint, but unmistakable—a light reflecting off glass. Denki squinted, turning his gaze toward the farthest corner of the theater. His blood turned to ice.

There, shrouded in shadows, sat a man in a plague mask, holding up a camera. The lens was pointed directly at Denki and Chisaki, capturing their every move. The faint click of the shutter barely registered above the movie’s audio, but Denki heard it as loud as a gunshot.

His mind raced. Overhaul didn’t come alone. This was a setup. A well-constructed trap. His stomach churned as the realization set in—he needed to act. Now.

Denki’s golden eyes darted to Overhaul, who remained seated and seemingly engrossed in the screen. His expression betrayed nothing, but Denki knew better than to trust it. The oppressive feeling of being cornered intensified.

His thoughts spiraled, panic taking over. I need to grab my hero license card and get out of here. Fast.

The problem was, he couldn’t rely on any pro heroes for backup—not here. This was a low-crime area where most patrols were minimal, and even those who came turned a blind eye. Denki clenched his fists. Dammit. I’m nothing but a dumb bunny caught by a clever fox.