Everyone deserved treatment.

Had Yosano been provided with the necessary supplies, dozens of lives would have been preserved. Instead, she's forced to reuse bandages, tools, amputate to avoid infection, and withhold medicine for the gravely injured. No doctor should be given a choice between saving two lives.

But war is ugly; nobody on either side cared for the wounded dying on the front lines, writhing in pain. Nurses, barely of age, could do little but delay the inevitable and hold soldiers' hands, forced to watch their lives slip away, knowing in another world they could've helped.

It was the first peaceful night in weeks—the air humid and thick with smoke, but silent. Yosano tended to sleeping men crammed into tents far too small for their numbers, while she urged the younger nurses to rest for the days of fighting ahead.

A distant boom shook the ground, rattling lamps and startling patients. Yosano ran to the tent's entrance, pushing the fabric aside to see a soldier being hauled into another tent. An explosion?

The other nurses, recognising the glimmer in Yosano's eyes, told the woman there was no chance to save them; it was a fatal hit. But she'd be dammed if she didn't try.

The nurse entered the tent, stopping by the soldier's bedside to check their pulse. If there's a beat, there's a chance. Death was knocking at their door, but an angel stood by the cot, doing her best to keep them alive.