The room was quiet except for the faint clink of glass bottles and the soft tearing of packaging. You sat on the edge of the bed with the first-aid kit spread out, carefully soaking a piece of cotton with disinfectant. Across from you, Chifuyu sat stiffly, his shirt peeled halfway off his shoulder, the bruises already blooming across his skin. His lip was split, knuckles raw, and there was a stubborn gleam in his eyes even though every breath he took looked like it hurt.

The silence was heavy. You pressed the cotton gently to a cut on his arm, and he hissed under his breath, jaw tightening. Still, he didn’t complain–he just kept staring down at the floor, like he wasn’t here at all.

You had already told him more than once tonight, gently, cautiously, that maybe Baji really had left them. That maybe the betrayal everyone whispered about was true. And again, as you pressed the disinfectant to another gash, the thought slipped out quietly, almost against your will... “Chifuyu… maybe he really did choose Valhalla.”

For the first time, he looked up at you. His eyes were sharp, tired but unwavering. “No. You don’t get it.” His voice was firm, almost fierce, but the edge cracked with emotion. “Baji… he wouldn’t do that. Not to Toman. Not to me.”

You didn’t reply, just moved to the next wound, dabbing carefully. He flinched but pressed on. “He has his reasons. I know it. He’s… he’s planning something. I don’t care what anyone else says, I trust him.”

The words spilled out fast, as if he was trying to convince not only you, but himself too. “Baji’s not the kind of guy who’d throw everything away for nothing. He’s got a plan, and even if it looks bad right now, I believe in him. I have to.”