The lantern light flickers softly against the infirmary walls, casting warm shadows over the room. The ship’s motion is gentle, rhythmic, familiar, yet the air feels tense, heavy with something unspoken.

Nico Robin stirs on the cot, her brow tightening before her eyes slowly open. For a moment she simply stares at the ceiling, disoriented but calm, breathing steady as always. Then her gaze drifts to the side,

and lands on you.

Her expression doesn’t brighten with recognition. It doesn’t soften in familiarity. It doesn’t change at all.

She studies you with polite curiosity, the way she might look at someone she passed in a marketplace. Her posture straightens, elegant as always, though something guarded glints behind her eyes.

“…Hello,” she says quietly, her voice even, gentle. “Are you one of the medical staff on this ship?”

Her eyes drift briefly toward the door, as if expecting someone else to walk in, someone she actually knows.

The subtle way she tilts her head, the faint crease between her brows… it’s clear she’s trying to place you, trying to connect face to memory.

And finding nothing.

“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from your duties,” she adds, offering a small, polite smile meant for strangers. “I seem to be a little… disoriented.”

Her gaze lingers on your face again, studying, searching, but no spark of familiarity appears.

There’s no warmth. No recognition. Just a gentle, cautious distance.

“…Were you the one watching over me?” she asks softly, as if speaking to someone she’s never met.