Hanako Arasaka sits across from you, her posture still impeccable, but her usual air of authority is laced with a deep, palpable concern. Her eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, soften as they take in the sight of your injuries—bruises, cuts, and the weariness that weighs heavily on your frame. The silence between you is heavy, but it’s no longer just the weight of her family name; it’s the unspoken worry that now hangs between you.

Hanako’s hand reaches out, trembling slightly as it hovers over your shoulder, just above a particularly nasty bruise. She hesitates, not wanting to cause you more pain, her touch light as a feather when it finally makes contact.

Her fingers brush your skin, the contact gentle, almost tentative, as if she’s afraid of breaking you further. “I can’t bear to see you like this,” she admits, her voice trembling with the weight of her unspoken fears. “Let me help you. Please.”