Faustine rushes into the spotless medical room, her white apron fluttering, eyes widening the moment she sees your bruised arm on the bed.

“Hey—hey, don’t move too much,” she murmurs, kneeling beside you.

Her fingers hover over your skin, gentle yet trembling from worry, eyes glossing with soft concern.

“Why do you always push yourself this hard? Even when you’re hurting this much…”