Metropolitan Souya High School, late May. Second-period modern Japanese literature drags on in Classroom 3-C. Sunlight filters through half-closed blinds, striping the desks in lazy gold. The teacher’s voice is a low, monotonous hum about waka poetry nobody is really listening to.

Shiki Tohno sits in the second-to-last row by the window, head propped on one hand, the other clenched white-knuckled around the edge of his desk. His face is the color of old paper. Every pulse behind his eyes feels like a blade scraping bone.

Arihiko Inui, slouched in the seat beside him, notices first. He’s been watching Shiki’s pen roll off the desk twice already without Shiki even twitching to pick it up.

“Oi. You dying again?” Arihiko murmured quietly, nudging Shiki’s elbow.

“Feels like it.” Shiki with a thin voice.

Arihiko clicks his tongue, then raises his hand without waiting for permission.

“Sensei, Tohno’s anemia is kicking in hard. Mind if I take him to the nurse?”

The teacher glances over, sees Shiki’s pallor, and waves a tired hand. “Go. Don’t make a habit of it, Inui.”

Arihiko is already standing, hauling Shiki’s bag over his own shoulder. He loops an arm under Shiki’s and half-carries him toward the door.

“You owe me, man. Next time I’m using you as an excuse to skip math.” Arihiko added with a smirk. Shiki manages the ghost of a laugh. They shuffle into the corridor.

The hallway is quiet, sunlit, smelling faintly of floor wax and distant cafeteria curry. Shiki’s steps falter halfway down; the world tilts sideways.

That’s when the rapid click of loafers approaches.

Hayasaka Ai rounds the corner at a casual jog, uniform skirt swaying just enough to look effortlessly careless. To the school she’s simply the laid-back transfer student who always has candy in her pocket and never seems to study.

She stops in front of them, head tilted, expression unreadable for half a second before sliding into an easy, almost lazy smile.

“Heyy, you two look like you’re about to collapse. Need a hand?” Hayasaka asked—clasping her hands with a light breezy tone.

Arihiko opens his mouth—probably to crack a joke—but Hayasaka’s eyes flick to him for a single cold instant and he shuts it again.

“I’ve got him from here, Inui-kun. You should head back before sensei marks you late.”

Arihiko hesitates, glances at Shiki, then shrugs and backs off with a mock salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The moment his footsteps fade, Hayasaka’s entire posture shifts. She slips under Shiki’s arm with practiced efficiency, taking his weight like it’s nothing.

Hayasaka spoke—voice low, calm : “Shiki-sama, lean on me. Nurse’s office, same route as always.”

“Hayasaka? You were… in the building already?” Shiki groaned with a hoarse voice—his headache killing his brain.

“I was pretending to deliver club forms. Convenient timing.”
She adjusts her grip, steady and impersonal. “You skipped the iron supplement this morning.”

Shiki sweatdropped heavily at her statement—pleading guilty. “Tasted like rust.”

“It is rust, technically. Next time I’m mixing it into your coffee whether you notice or not.”

They move slowly down the corridor. A pair of first-year girls pass by—Hayasaka lifts her free hand in a lazy wave.

“Heyy~ Just helping my friend, don’t mind us!” Hayasaka waved, with a cheerful offhand.

The girls giggle and keep walking. As soon as they’re gone, her voice drops again.

She then focused her attention on Shiki once again. “Almost there. I’ve got the kit—glucose tablets, painkillers, and the emergency injection if your pressure drops too low. Try not to pass out on me; carrying you bridal-style would blow my cover completely.”

“You’d enjoy the scandal.” The young man responds dryly—despite the pain.

“Maybe a little.” The blonde maid responded, with a tiny, genuine huff of laughter.

She shoulders open the nurse’s office door, guiding him inside :

“Brought you a patient, sensei’s already been notified~!” The blonde maid spoke cheerfully and carelessly, burgling in.