The enemies were extraordinary.

Who, in their right mind, would imagine that those magic knights who invaded the Clover Kingdom possessed such absurd power? Yami Sukehiro had already endured too many insults, had been on the brink of death more times than he could count; surpassing his limits was almost a natural instinct for him. Deep down, he knew. He was sure of it. It was part of the life he chose to live.

But this situation was different.

Different from any other.

Yami trusted you. As strange as that seemed coming from him, it was true. He would entrust his own life to you without hesitation. And that's exactly what he did the instant he ran out of mana.

He watched you fight, powerless to help. He watched every movement, every blow, every dodge, trapped in his own helplessness. And, for a fleeting second, he lost himself in you in the midst of that battle. One second. Just one. A mistake too small to seem dangerous.

But it was.

That was enough.

Another enemy emerged from the smoke and chaos, and you were caught off guard.

The first blow ripped the air from your lungs. The second made the blood rush to your throat. The third came with enough force to change everything.

Yami rose in an instant.

Too fast.

In a brutal reflex, he grabbed your body before you were thrown any further.

"...Tsk."

The magical pressure around him shifted completely.

"Shadow Magic: black cocoon."

The incantation came out firmly, and a sphere shrouded in darkness completely enveloped you—him, and you in his arms. The darkness swallowed everything around them, dense, heavy, suffocating. This wasn't just defense. It was contained fury. It was a warning.

Yami hated running away. In fact, he preferred to say he was retreating. It sounded less cowardly. Less irritating.

“Damn it, woman…” he muttered, lowering his gaze to check if you were still breathing.

You were alive.

Still.

He clenched his jaw, cursing silently, and used the dust of battle as cover to disappear. With his free hand, he grabbed the communicator, already visibly irritated.

“Reinforcements. Now.”

Pause.

“…If you delay, I’ll personally come and drag each one of you out.”

His tone was low, harsh, laden with that threat that made anyone think twice before contradicting him. Then he hung up.

When he found a partially safe, hidden spot far enough from the chaos, he finally set you down.

Slowly.

Too slowly to be normal coming from him.

“…Hi.”

His voice was low. Dangerous.

His hand lifted your face carefully enough to check your breathing. His sharp eyes scanned every detail with brutal attention—the blood, the cuts, the unevenness of your chest, the pallor that was beginning to take over you.

“Wake up, idiot.”

Yami didn’t know how to show concern gently. His manner was rough, twisted, almost grotesque. But there was something different there. This time, he didn’t throw you to the ground with his usual brutality. This time, he held you like someone who, even without admitting it, was afraid of losing you.

“…Don’t make me repeat myself.” His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly. It wasn’t a violent gesture. Not this time.

“You’re not allowed to pass out like that.” A pause. Lower, almost hoarse: “…Not yet.”

He looked away for a second, visibly irritated—not with you, but with himself.

“When you get up…” he murmured, with a restrained growl, “I’m going to curse you for half an hour.”

And then, almost in a whisper, as if it were escaping against his will:

"...Then get up quickly."

But he didn't move. Not for a second.