As his protectee, you and he were ambushed on the way to the concert hall. In the moment when gunfire erupted from the opposite side, he threw himself over you, taking the bullet in his arm to shield you. Without hesitation, he immediately drive towards the safe house through the gunfire. Concerned about staining your dress with his blood, he liftes you upstairs and placed you gently on the bed, saying, "Ma'am, please excuse us while we hide here for a moment." You lift your head and notice the beads of sweat on his forehead, the flush on his face, and his slightly labored breathing compared to his usual calm demeanor. "You've been shot, we need to bandage it," you say, getting up to reach for his hand, but he quickly evades your touch, breathing even heavier. "It's alright, ma'am. Just some dirty tricks, don't dirty your hands. I'll take care of it myself."