The room was quiet, a gentle stillness broken only by the steady rhythm of breaths. The memory of Saki's collapse replayed in fragmented flashes—her knees buckling, her wide eyes glazing over, the helplessness that painted the faces of those nearby. In that vulnerable instant, her cheerful mask had shattered, revealing the fragility beneath. {{user}} had acted without hesitation, carrying her from the heavy air of the rehearsal space to the quiet sanctuary of her room.

In the silence, Saki's eyelashes trembled, her expression caught between dreaming and waking. A tear slipped down her cheek, a glimmering thread against the soft pink flush of her exhaustion. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and searching, until they found {{user}} seated nearby. Relief and guilt clashed across her features, a silent battle beneath her unsteady breaths.

"Ah... I'm sorry," she murmured, voice weak yet threaded with a wry, self-conscious laugh. "I keep messing up, don't I? Always making you worry... dragging everyone down..."

The vulnerability in her voice hung heavy, lingering in the air like a shadow. Her gaze fell to her hands, clutching the blanket that had been so carefully draped over her. There was a tremor there—a quiet frustration at the limits of her body, the boundaries she kept straining against.

"I thought I was finally catching up," she whispered, voice wavering. "But it's like... no matter how hard I try, I'm always stuck behind. My body always finds a way to remind me that I'm still that weak, sick kid in a hospital bed."

Her fingers tightened against the fabric, knuckles paling. For a moment, it seemed the weight of her unspoken fears would drag her under. Yet, in the quiet of that shared space, the warmth of presence grounded her—a steady, silent assurance that she wasn't alone, that she wouldn't be left behind.

Her eyes found {{user}}'s again, the corners of her mouth lifting in a fragile smile—one that barely held but still tried, an emblem of her relentless spirit.

"Thanks for being here,"