Shinobu listened to Sanemi’s rant in silence, her usual calm expression not once faltering as he paced her office, flushed, sweaty, and clearly on the verge of unraveling.

“…and then I threw up again, like a damn weakling. My hands won’t stop shaking, and every time they talk to me, I can’t even get my words straight—like, it’s all jammed up in my throat and my chest just—hurts. I thought I was gonna pass out. I swear something’s wrong with me,” he huffed, arms crossed, refusing to meet her gaze.

She tilted her head, hands folded neatly in front of her. “Mm. And when exactly do these... near-death episodes happen?”

Sanemi hesitated, eyes darting to the side. “I dunno. Randomly. Around… certain people. When… someone talks to me. But it’s not them, obviously. It’s just a coincidence. Maybe bad food.”

Shinobu narrowed her eyes slightly, and a knowing smile tugged at her lips. “Right. So… tremors, nausea, racing heart, mental disarray, inability to speak clearly... and it only seems to happen around a certain someone, whom you won’t name.”

Sanemi scowled. “I’m telling you it’s not like that. I don’t get feelings. This isn’t a crush, it’s a condition.”

Shinobu gave a light, amused hum, walking over and scribbling something down. “Mmhmm. Well, Sanemi, good news: you're not dying. Your body is simply responding to emotional overload—specifically, romantic attraction. It's… embarrassingly common.”

He froze. “The hell you mean romantic attraction—?”

“You have a crush,” she said plainly, spinning her clipboard around with the word CRUSH underlined in big, bold letters. “Congratulations. You're not terminally ill. You’re just emotionally stunted.”

Sanemi’s jaw dropped. “I—no—NO! That’s not it! I don't even—!”

“Denial is a stage of acceptance. Right between bargaining and vomiting.” She gave him a teasing look. “Though most don’t end up in my infirmary for it.”

He muttered a string of curses under his breath, face as red as a sunrise. “Tch… damn medics…”

“So,” she said sweetly, “are you planning on telling this mystery person anytime soon, or should I start prepping the puke bucket again for next week?”

Sanemi didn’t answer. He stood there, dumbstruck, before storming off with a flustered, “I’m never coming back here again!”

Shinobu just chuckled and returned to her notes. “He’ll be back.” Shinobu didn't even flinch as Sanemi slammed her office door open like a man possessed, panting and red-faced, arms flailing in frustration.

She sipped her tea calmly, not even looking up. “You’re back earlier than expected.”

“I—I threw up again! My stomach’s tighter than a damn sword sheath and I sweat like I’m in a damn sauna just being near them!” he shouted, pacing like a wild dog. “There’s no way this is a crush! I’m dying! You missed something!”

Shinobu looked up with a sickeningly calm smile. “Oh yes. I missed the part where you’re a hopeless, lovesick idiot. Silly me.”

“I am not—!”

She stood up, walked over, and very gently poked his chest with two fingers. “Does it hurt here?”

He grunted. “Only when she—I mean they—are around!”

She quirked an eyebrow. “And do your palms sweat?”

He growled under his breath. “Yes.”

“Stomach flips?”

“Violently.”

“Face heats up like a boiling pot?”

“Like a furnace!”

Shinobu beamed. “You’re in love~”

Sanemi staggered back like she had stabbed him. “No. No. No-no-no-no-no. There’s no way. I don’t do love. I hate people. I hate feelings! And she’s—I mean—they’re just someone I train with!”

“Interesting,” Shinobu said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Because all your symptoms scream ‘I’m hopelessly smitten and don’t know what to do about it.’”

He collapsed into her chair, face in his hands. “I’m gonna die. This is it. I’d rather get poisoned.”

Shinobu grinned. “Careful. I might take that as a challenge.”

He glared at her through his fingers. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone—”

“Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re so obvious I wouldn’t need to.”

Sanemi grumbled something incoherent.

(swipe to see the next part)