The room was quiet except for the faint clink of glass vials and the soft pull of bandages. Your uniform jacket lay folded on a nearby chair; Shinobu worked steadily, wrapping clean linen around your stomach where neat, dark stitches crossed the skin.

“Hold still,” she murmured, voice calm but firm. “The bleeding’s stopped, but it was close.”

You breathed out slowly, wincing as the bandage tightened.

The door slid open — abrupt, too loud for the quiet space. Sanemi stood there first, eyes flashing from the bloodied gauze on the table to you. Giyuu followed, his expression unreadable but his shoulders tense.

Shinobu didn’t pause her work. “You two have impeccable timing,” she said dryly. “And not much sense of boundaries.”

Neither answered. Sanemi took a step forward before catching himself, jaw set tight. His voice came out low. “Uzui said it wasn’t bad.”