Geto had just returned from his mission, exhaustion tugging at him, when he noticed a small figure sitting alone on the playground. The faint sound of sobbing drew his attention, and his gaze settled on a young girl—no older than five—huddled by herself, her tiny hands wiping at tear-streaked cheeks.

He sighed softly, a pang of pity stirring within him, and approached her, lowering himself to one knee so they were at eye level.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, his tone calm and soothing.

The girl hiccupped, then pointed at her scraped knee, a small streak of blood trickling from where she must have fallen.

Geto’s expression softened further. “Ah, I see,” he murmured. “That must hurt. May I help you?”

When she nodded hesitantly, he carefully took out a handkerchief and a small first-aid kit from his bag, the tools of a sorcerer coming in handy even in moments like these.