SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

The slap had been so sudden, so completely unexpected, that none of my skills had helped me see it coming. Not Reflex Calibration, not Instinct, nothing. They should have detected the muscle tension in her arm, the shift in her posture, the micro-expressions that preceded physical violence. But they'd remained completely silent, offering no warning whatsoever.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that a part of me, the one that assessed dangers and devised reactions, had never viewed Sienna as a potential source of harm. Or perhaps it was due to my intense focus on completing my confession that I overlooked all the signals my skills were trying to tell me.

Yet, beneath the surface, I had a feeling it was something completely different. I feel like my subconscious was so eager to prevent Sienna from being this upset that it completely ignored the possibility. Even when all the proof was right there. All of it being in front of me.

The sting in my cheek was nothing compared to the look in her eyes when I turned back to face her. There were tears there. They weren't the angry tears that came with rage, but the devastating kind that came from having your heart broken by someone you trusted completely.

"Don't..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying more pain than I'd ever heard from her before. "Don't use that word anymore. Don't say 'promise' to me. Not ever again."

The words hit me like physical blows, each syllable driving home just how completely I'd destroyed the trust between us. She wasn't just angry. She was done. Done with my excuses, done with my apologies, done with the cycle of broken commitments that had defined our relationship for the last 2 years.

Before I could respond, before I could even begin to process what she'd just said, she was on her feet and moving toward the bedroom the 5 of us shared. Her steps were quick and purposeful, carrying her away from me as fast as she could manage without actually running.

The door didn't slam or anything. That would have been too dramatic for Sienna. Instead, it closed with a soft click that somehow felt more final than any amount of shouting would have been.

I stood there in the living room, my hand still pressed to my burning cheek, trying to understand what had just happened. The silence stretched on for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, broken finally by Camille clearing her throat.

"You need to go after her," she said quietly.

I turned to look at her, then at Evelyn, both of whom were watching me with expressions that mixed sympathy with something that looked like disappointment in my handling of the situation.

"She doesn't want to see me right now," I said, stating what seemed obvious. "She just told me not to make promises anymore and then literally ran away from me."

"She slapped you because you were about to make another promise," Evelyn pointed out, her voice gentle but firm. "Not because she doesn't want to work through this with you. There's a difference."

Camille nodded in agreement. "A one-on-one conversation might be what's needed here. We can't fix this for you, Rey. This is between you and her."

They were right, of course. As much as I wanted to avoid another painful confrontation. I dreaded seeing more tears in Sienna's eyes, but running away from this conversation would only make things worse.

I nodded and headed towards the bedroom, my steps feeling heavier with each one. The door was still closed, and I paused outside it for a moment, listening for any sounds that might give me a clue about what I'd find on the other side.

Nothing. Complete silence.

I knocked softly. "Sienna? Can I come in?"

No response.

I tried the handle and found it unlocked, which I took as permission to enter. The room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon light, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust well enough to see her clearly.

She was on the bed, curled up in a tight ball with our heaviest blanket pulled over her entire body. Only the top of her head was visible, her face buried in one of the pillows in a way that suggested she was trying to hide from the entire world.

I approached slowly, but I think it was more for me than it was for her. The mattress dipped slightly as I settled onto the edge of the bed, close enough to reach out and touch her but far enough away to give her space if she needed it.

"I don't want to talk to you," came her muffled voice from beneath the pillow.

The words were distinct even though they passed through material, but my Psychological Insight suggested otherwise. She was hurt and beyond angry. However, beneath those outward feelings, I sensed something different. An urgent longing for closeness, for comfort, for any indication that this bond might be repaired.

Lie Detection confirmed that she was honest about her reluctance to talk, at least for the moment. It also indicated that she wished for me to remain, that solitude was the very last thing she wanted at this moment.

So I stayed.

I didn't try to initiate conversation or offer more apologies that would probably make things worse. Instead, I simply sat there in the quiet dimness of our room, occasionally reaching out to run my hand gently along the curve of her back through the blanket.

She didn't move toward the touch, but she didn't pull away from it either. She just lay there, breathing steadily, processing whatever complex mix of emotions was running through her mind.

Thirty minutes passed in near-complete silence. The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic outside and the soft whisper of fabric as one of us occasionally shifted position. It should have been awkward. I was sitting in silence with someone who'd just slapped me and told me never to make promises to her again. But somehow, it wasn't. It felt necessary, like a pause in a piece of music that gave meaning to the notes that came before and after.

"Do you love me?" she asked finally, her voice still muffled.

The question caught me off guard, partly because it seemed to come from nowhere and partly because the answer was so obvious I couldn't believe she needed to ask it.

"I love you with every fiber of my being," I said, the words coming out with more raw emotion than I'd intended. "You were the kindest person to me when I was still working construction with my F-Rank job. There were days when you saw something worthwhile in me when I couldn't even see it in myself."

I paused, trying to find words that could adequately express the depth of what she meant to me.

"You're the reason I started believing I could be more than just another failed construction worker. You're the reason I had the courage to start taking risks and pursuing the kind of life we have now."

The silence stretched on for another long moment before she spoke again.

"If you love me," she said, and there was a note of genuine confusion in her voice, "why do you never keep your promises?"

The question hit me like a punch to the chest because it was so simple and so impossible to answer in any way that wouldn't sound like another excuse. She wasn't asking about complex motivations or tactical considerations. She was asking about how I could claim to love her while repeatedly breaking my word and I genuinely didn't know.

I thought about it carefully, trying to identify the real reasons rather than the comfortable justifications I usually offered.

"It's a mix of things," I said slowly. "Sometimes I get too passionate or excited about something, and I make commitments in the heat of the moment without thinking through whether I'll actually be able to keep them."

I ran my hand through my hair, a nervous gesture that helped me organize my thoughts.

"But most of the time, if I'm being completely honest, it's because I'm scared."

"Scared of what?" she asked.

"Scared that something will happen to you. Scared that you'll worry about me. Scared that you'll..." I swallowed hard, forcing myself to voice the fear that I'd never admitted to anyone, including myself. "Scared that you'll leave me."

That got her attention. She turned her head slightly, still not facing me but no longer buried completely in the pillow.

The confession hung in the air between us like a fragile thing that might shatter if either of us breathed too hard.

"Why would you think that?" Sienna asked, and there was genuine surprise in her voice now.

I considered my answer carefully, trying to articulate feelings that I'd spent months ignoring for my own goals.

"I never thought I'd have so many important people in my life," I said finally. "In all honesty, I find it a bit overwhelming. Not in the sense that you're naggers who bother me—that's not it at all. But the amount of responsibility I have now is more than I've ever had before."

I shifted on the bed, turning slightly toward her even though she still wasn't looking at me.

"I keep making mistakes, and I never seem to learn from them. Every time I think I've figured out how to be the kind of person you all deserve, I end up doing something that proves I haven't learned anything at all. And every time that happens, I'm terrified that it'll be the mistake that finally convinces you I'm not worth the trouble."

The silence that followed felt different from the earlier pauses in our conversation. This one had weight to it, the kind of heavy quiet that comes when someone is processing information that reshapes their understanding of a situation.

"Rey..." she started, then seemed to lose track of what she'd been about to say.

I waited, giving her time to work through whatever thoughts were running through her mind. When she didn't continue, I took a deep breath and made a decision that felt both terrifying and necessary.

"There's nothing I can say that will prove my words mean anything," I said, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "I won't even make a promise to you because at this point, my promises are meaningless. They're just sounds I make when I'm trying to avoid consequences for my actions."

I started to stand up, intending to give her space to process everything we'd discussed.

"Instead, I'll simply show you. Because actions are the only thing I have that are worth anything anymore."

I was halfway off the bed when her hand shot out from beneath the blanket and grabbed my arm with surprising force. The strength of her grip was a reminder that despite her gentle nature, Sienna had spent years doing physical construction work. When she wanted to keep me in place, she had the power to do it.

She pulled me back toward the bed with enough force to make me stumble slightly, then wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face against my chest. The blanket had fallen away in her sudden movement, and I could see that her cheeks were still damp with tears.

"I don't want you to leave," she said, her voice muffled against my shirt. "Not yet."

I took a seat on the bed again and put my arms around her, keeping her close without squeezing too hard. Strangely, she felt little and frail in my arms, even though I knew she was anything but. However, she looked like she needed the comfort of closeness more than she did mental space at this point in time, with her heart crushed and her defenses down.

Rather than filling the void with extra words that would worsen the situation, I tried to be the kind of presence she needed in this time by holding her and waiting.

We would figure out the rest later.