The only sound in the office was the occasional crackle of the fire and the rhythmic clink of Andreas's teaspoon against porcelain. His ginger, lemon, and lime blend steamed gently as he lifted it to his lips, but his eyes never left Ryan.
Neither of them spoke. Not for a while.
They sat like bookends—Andreas in the armchair, Ryan perched at the edge of his desk, hands loosely clasped, a notebook resting unopened beside him.
Earlier that evening, the boys had enthusiastically recounted their adventures at Anicon, from the panels to the cosplay contest to the emotional highs of connecting with fans who didn't know their names. But when they reached the topic of the costume choices—when Naruto admitted that Ryan had helped them narrow down their options—Andreas had paused.
And that look.
A subtle shift of the eyes. Just a flicker.
But Ryan saw it.
The analyst's gaze. The old soldier's instinct.
The confrontation was inevitable.
Andreas finally broke the silence, swirling his tea before taking a long sip. When he spoke, his tone was smooth—almost amused.
"Cosplay therapy. Ingenious." He smiled faintly. "So subtle it borders on villainous."
Ryan gave the smallest shrug, unbothered. "I didn't pick their costumes. I just gave them mirrors. They were the ones brave enough to look."
Andreas let the words hang for a moment. Then:
"And when they find out?"
"They will," Ryan said calmly. "Eventually."
"And what then?" Andreas's tone hardened slightly. "You think they'll thank you for weaponizing their trauma in a crowded convention hall?"
Ryan met his eyes. "I think by the time they realize what I did, they'll be strong enough to understand why."
Andreas exhaled through his nose. "You're betting a lot on their growth."
"I'm not betting," Ryan said, reaching for the notebook. "I'm tracking it."
He opened it, flipping to a marked page. Neat, clinical handwriting. Notes in red ink. Symbol diagrams. Personality matrices. Even sketches—costume comparisons to psychological profiles.
Andreas raised an eyebrow. "When the hell did you—"
"Between panels," Ryan said simply. "And while they slept on the ride back."
Ryan flipped open the worn leather-bound notebook towards specific pages, its pages scrawled in precise ink strokes. Not one boy had seen him write in it, but every page was full.
Andreas watched, arms folded, as Ryan began reading—not with flair, but with surgeon's calm.
"Izuku Midoriya," Ryan began. "Projected restraint throughout the convention—but I noticed something during the cosplay contest. When a participant accidentally bumped into his shoulder, he smiled. But his fingers twitched like a trigger pull. Not rage—precision."
"He's mastered emotional discipline, but the storm beneath is sharper than Bakugo's. He's not volatile—he's trained. Like a samurai who chooses not to draw unless the cut is fatal."
Andreas's eyes narrowed slightly. Ryan continued.
"Asta," he said, tapping the page. "Watched the gore in Chainsaw Man and Solo Leveling panels with a flicker of something complex. Disgust, recognition, maybe guilt. I'm nearly certain he's taken a life. But not a human one. Whatever it was... he mourned it."
"He still smiles the brightest. But it's a shield now, not a window."
He flipped to the next entry.
"Tanjiro Kamado. Watched a Nezuko cosplayer playfully pretend to eat a Zenitsu lookalike—classic con humor. But the way he froze... the way his hand hovered near his pocket like reaching for a sword... That wasn't amusement. That was fear. Doubt. Maybe guilt."
"It passed. He smiled again. But I think the memory of his sister's demonhood is one he still wrestles with."
Andreas sipped his tea slowly, but didn't interrupt.
Ryan turned to the next page.
"Naruto Uzumaki," he said, voice dipping slightly. "Every time a Konoha headband passed by, I saw it. A flicker in his eyes. Not sadness. Hatred. Controlled, but present."
"He's made peace with Kurama, but not with the village. They raised him to be their weapon. They called him hero—after they used him up. He hasn't forgiven them. Not really."
A pause. Ryan's fingers lingered on the final page.
"Eren Yeager." He looked at Andreas. "He's changed the most."
"At the panel for Attack on Titan, someone dressed as Mikasa offered him a free sticker. He hesitated. Then smiled. Said thank you."
"Last year, he would've pushed her away. Now? He stays close to the group. He listens. He shares. He hasn't erased the weight of what he did... but he's not trying to justify it anymore. He's just trying to be... better."
He closed the notebook quietly.
Andreas was quiet for a moment longer. Then he spoke:
"You weren't giving them mirrors, Ryan. You were holding up their shadows. And they didn't even flinch."
Ryan nodded once. "They're ready."
Andreas set his mug down, staring into the fire. "If they ever find out what you've been writing down... I hope they'll see it that way."
Ryan didn't hesitate.
"They will. When they're strong enough to read it for themselves."
The Mydents sat in a rather comfortable silence as they digested the info. Ryan was taking risks and Andreas knew if he gambled to much on the wrong play the things will bite him back in the ass.
Hard. Bone-crushingly so.
As the elder Mydent started to rub his forehead as arranged his thoughts, something happened. A bright line of light appeared at the edge of the room.
Just as suddenly as it appeared, it lengthened to form an opaque orange glowing cuboid of sorts. It was rather familiar.
A figure stepped through. It had a cream trench coat and black light armour underneath with orange fabric beneath black plating. The trench coat, somehow, also had a hood.
Ryan and Andreas eyed the unidentified intruder with caution, suspicion, and a vague sense of familiarity. Andreas broke the uncomfortable silence. "Albert"
"Identity unable to trace. Biometric algorithms indicate evidence of specific identity as Homo sapien sapiens. No further information available until further data is found or observed."
The figure chuckled, as if impressed."That's quite the AI you have there," he said. "Then again, this is far ahead in time compared to my home, so I guess that's that."
"Who are you ?" asked Ryan with the tone he reserved for board members who stepped out of line. Polite but firm and direct. His hand was sneaking into a secret compartment for a personally handcrafted, modified taser of his that had a better range compared to the traditional ones. A few steps in, and the intruder would be in range.
Sensing His unease, the stranger held his arms up in surrender. "Easy," he said, "I come in peace."
The mood did not shift, so he tried a different strategy. He slowly reached for the hood over his head, grabbed it and pulled it back. Ryan and Andreas stared in shock and confusion. For a moment, they looked at each other before looking back at the now unmasked intruder.
"What the actual fuck ?"