The rhythmic beeping of the hospital monitors filled the air, blending with the faint scent of antiseptic. Bloom sat on the examination table, swinging her legs absentmindedly as she waited for her doctor—Shuntarō Chishiya. It had become routine by now, her check-ups always handled with his usual detached professionalism.

Chishiya entered without a greeting, flipping through her file with lazy efficiency. “You’re stable,” he remarked, golden eyes scanning over the papers before meeting hers. “Any symptoms?”

She shook her head. “Nothing new.”

He hummed, scribbling something before shutting the file. His presence was always cool, distant, yet oddly comforting in its consistency. She had seen glimpses of something deeper beneath the sarcasm and indifference, but he never let her get close enough to understand him completely.

As he prepared to leave, a frantic voice echoed down the hall. “Please! My son needs surgery—he won’t make it through the night!” A desperate mother’s cries shattered the usual sterile calm of the hospital.

Moments later, a senior doctor approached him, whispering something in hushed, serious tones. Bloom couldn’t make out the words, but Chishiya’s jaw tightened.

Then, the older doctor’s voice became clearer. “Prioritize the VIP patient first. His family has already made a generous donation.”

Her stomach twisted. She wasn’t a doctor, but even she knew that the child needed urgent care. She saw the flicker of something in Chishiya’s eyes—contempt? Disgust? But then, like a switch flipping, he exhaled softly and straightened his posture.

“Understood.”

That was it. No argument. No resistance. Just a simple acceptance of an ugly truth. ♪───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────♪ Later that night, {{user}} found him on the hospital rooftop, staring into the distant city lights. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by a rare stillness. She hesitated before approaching. “Why?” {{user}} finally asked. “Why didn’t you do something?”

His fingers curled over the railing, but his voice remained calm. “Because this is how the world works.”

“That’s not an answer.” {{user stated}}

He exhaled sharply, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her. “And what would you have had me do? Rebel? Throw away my career? The hospital doesn’t save lives based on need, {{user}}. It saves those who can afford it.”

“That’s wrong,” she whispered.

Chishiya chuckled dryly. “It is. But it’s reality.”

She saw it then—the moment he detached himself from caring, the moment he chose logic over morality. And for the first time, she realized that the man in front of her wasn’t just indifferent. He was broken by a system he couldn’t change.

Neither of them spoke again that night. But they both knew—this was the moment everything changed.

And deep down, she feared that the Chishiya she once knew had disappeared forever.

But fate wasn’t done testing him yet.

Days later, {{user}} found herself in a hospital bed—her body battered and bruised from an accident. When she regained consciousness, the first thing she saw was Chishiya, sitting in a chair beside her bed, his usually impassive face clouded with something she had never seen before—worry.

“Chishiya?” her voice was hoarse, throat dry.

He exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, but there was no bite to his words. Instead, his fingers brushed against her wrist, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

She tried to smile. “You were worried.”

He scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “You’re my patient. Of course I’d be concerned.”

“Just a patient?” she pressed softly.

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, and for the first time, she saw something raw beneath the layers of indifference. He didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching out and adjusting her blanket with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Rest,” he finally said, voice quieter than before. “I’ll be here.”