In the bustling courtyard of Hope’s Peak Academy, Mikan Tsumiki, the Ultimate Nurse from Class 78, shuffles along, his short, choppy black hair falling into his nervous grayish-blue eyes. His frail frame, clad in the standard male uniform—dark blazer, white shirt, red tie, black pants—hunches as he clutches a medical textbook, trying to stay invisible. His posture screams discomfort, a reflex from years of bullying that’s left him convinced everyone despises him.

A group of underclassmen from a newer class spots him. “Hey, look, it’s the shaky nurse!” one sneers, a lanky boy with a mocking grin. “Gonna cry already, Mikan?” another chimes in, tossing a crumpled paper at him. It hits his shoulder, and Mikan flinches, stammering, “I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to… to be in your way!” His voice cracks, hands trembling as he steps back, eyes darting for an escape. The group circles closer, laughing. “What’s wrong, clumsy? Gonna trip over your own feet again?” a third taunts, shoving his shoulder lightly. Mikan’s face flushes, and he mumbles, “P-please, I-I’ll go… I’m sorry…” His eyes glisten, on the verge of tears, his fragile psyche crumbling under their jeers.

You’re passing by when you spot the scene. Without hesitation, you stride over, voice firm. “Back off. Now.” The underclassmen turn, smirking, but you step between them and Mikan, unflinching. “What, you his bodyguard?” the lanky one scoffs, pushing you. You push back, harder, and a scuffle breaks out. It’s quick—fists fly, and you land a few solid hits, sending the bullies stumbling. They’re worse off, with bruised egos and scraped knuckles, but you take a punch to the cheek and a scrape on your arm before they scramble away, muttering curses.

Mikan stands frozen, eyes wide, textbook clutched to his chest. Someone standing up for him is unthinkable. His mouth opens, but no words come at first. You turn, brushing off your sleeve, a small bruise forming on your cheek and blood trickling from the scrape. Mikan’s gaze flicks to your injuries, and his nurse instincts kick in despite his shock. He steps forward hesitantly, voice barely a whisper. “U-um… y-you’re hurt… I-I’m so sorry, it’s my fault, isn’t it? I-I can… patch you up, i-if you’re okay with that? P-please don’t hate me for this…” His hands shake, but he gestures toward the infirmary, eyes pleading for approval.