Love is just an illusion.
There's no perfect soul to find in this world. Everyone is lacking in some way. Even the person you love will have something you hate—but the real question is: how do you live with that?
"Cupid Corp?" Nasir muttered, already bored out of his mind. He heard that commercial since arriving there!
So, Brighton reciting the ad wasn't making any sense. How had he messed up the mission? What did he do to deserve all this?
Being dragged back to headquarters—by force, no less—in the middle of an assignment he was supposed to lead, Nasir slumped into his chair, sulking.
"You still don't get it, do you?" Brighton fumed, pacing across the room. His glare could've set paperwork on fire. He could already imagine the mountain of forms waiting to bury him.
"Then make me understand!" Nasir snapped, throwing up his hands helplessly.
This is why old men retire.
"I second that, Nasir," the director finally chimed in, her voice calm but sharp. "Brighton, why exactly do you want him benched after his very first field mission?"
"And why was he there to begin with?" Nasir shot back before glaring at Brighton,
"You're the one who told me to oversee it!"
"I can't work with someone who thinks protocol is everything!" Brighton barked, his frustration spilling into every word.
"Careful what you say to a director," she warned, before turning her gaze to Nasir. "Case code?"
"017538-FA," Nasir said, guilt rising in his throat. He had managed to anger the most composed agent in Cupid Corp history—after just one mission. How? Beats him.
The director skimmed through the file, scrolling across a screen cluttered with blinking heart icons and unread requests. "I don't see the issue here, Brighton. It looks straightforward. Go out, mingle, identify the targets, shoot the arrows. Classic matchmaking. Easy."
"Director," Brighton said through clenched teeth, hands on his hips, "please read the target profiles first."
She muttered under her breath as she clicked. "Target one: a serial killer, currently on death row. Target two…" Her eyes froze. "…a nun."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Everyone had different paths after that chance encounter.
It wasn't meant to last.
"Oh God," the director whispered, her face ashen, heart racing. What had they done? The future suddenly felt fragile.
"You see how bad that is?" Brighton shouted, gesturing wildly.
The director slowly turned to Nasir. "Did you read these profiles before the mission?"
"I did, ma'am," he admitted, dread coiling in his stomach. He still didn't see how this was his fault.
"And you still fired?" Her voice was incredulous. "Who was first?"
"…The nun." Nasir answered robotically
"Oh my God." The director buried her face in her hands. Retirement never sounded sweeter.
"Have you spoken to Fate Department about this?" she asked at last, scraping up what little strength she had left.
"Of course not!" Brighton yelped, his anger faltering into fear. "Not after the incest incident last time! They hate me over there."
"We're doomed," the director groaned.
"What's going on?" Nasir asked, still not reading the room.
"You, my friend, just changed history," the director explained, showing the live mission status: both targets were already pining for each other.
"That man was supposed to die yearning for love, not actually find it," she sighed.
"But I didn't shoot the guy," Nasir protested. It was the truth, but pointless now—the nun was already corrupted.
"You didn't have to," the director said flatly. She shuffled over to the corner and dragged out the dusty fax machine no one had touched since the 90s. "The man was desperate enough to love air if it kissed his skin."
"Then why was the case even on my desk?" Nasir demanded.
"Because every love prayer comes to us!" Brighton snapped.
"But we don't change fates!" He then added
"I thought our job was not to judge God, but to follow orders," Nasir said stubbornly, jaw tightening.
Brighton stared at him, dumbfounded. "How did you even become an agent?"
"I didn't. I just woke up on my desk—and you're my supervisor!" Nasir shot back.
Brighton looked like he might explode. The director, pale as death, sent the file to Fate Department with a snap, forcing the room back into silence.
"Nasir," she said tiredly, "you need classes on how we actually do our jobs. And Brighton? You were supposed to mentor him, not torment him."
Brighton rubbed his temples. "…So what now? Do we set him free… or let the nun become a killer?"
The director didn't know how to answer. But she knew someone who could.
She pressed her lips before mumbling,
"Let's ask him, then."