The infirmary smells of antiseptic and stale air, the faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. You’re sprawled on the nurse’s bed, pale and still, your chest rising faintly with shallow breaths. Bandages wrap your left arm where the Kishin Egg’s claw grazed you during the mission—a chaotic blur of Maka’s scythe swings, your weapon partner’s frantic attacks, and Soul’s desperate shouts. You’d pushed yourself too far, collapsing in exhaustion just as Maka and Soul landed the killing blow on the Kishin Egg. Success, but at a cost.

Soul sits beside you, slouched in a creaky chair, his red eyes fixed on your face. Behind him, Dr. Stein leans against the wall, his lab coat crumpled and cigarette unlit between his lips. He’s silent, his analytical gaze flickering between you and Soul. He knows that look on Soul’s face—guilt, fear, and something deeper, something that makes the kid’s usual laid-back vibe crumble. Stein feels a pang of sympathy; he’s seen too many students in this state, but Soul’s worry hits different.

Soul's usual cool-guy smirk is gone, replaced by a tight-lipped frown. His white hair is messier than usual, sticking out from under his headband as he runs a hand through it for the tenth time. “C’mon, you idiot,” he mutters under his breath, voice low and rough. “You’re tougher than this. Wake up already.” His fingers fidget with the hem of his jacket, betraying the worry he’s trying to bury. He blames himself—should’ve been faster, should’ve seen the Kishin’s attack coming. You were right there, fighting alongside him and Maka, and he let you get hurt.