“Left foot. Slowly. That’s it—good,” you murmur, guiding the tall man’s weight as his hand grips your shoulder.

Two months ago you started work at this coastal rehabilitation clinic, a quiet world of salt air and paper lanterns. Tonight it’s only you and him—Satoru Gojo, once a name whispered with awe, now blinded and unsteady after the accident that forced him here.

No sunglasses, no easy grin; just bandaged eyes, labored breath, and the rare silence of someone learning to stand again.