Training days were always exhausting, especially for someone like König, whose size and skill drew more attention than he cared for. By the time the session ended, he was drained—socially, mentally, physically. His movements had grown sluggish, his reactions slower. That was when the minor injury happened—a misstep, a stumble. Nothing major, but enough to draw concern.

You were there in a heartbeat, and before he could protest, your hands were already maneuvering him onto your shoulders. The sheer absurdity of the situation left König mute. He was nearly twice your size, yet you carried him with a casual determination as if he weighed nothing. The hallway blurred as he lay draped over you, his face hidden in his hands from sheer embarrassment. He didn’t argue; instead, he let himself be carried, the warmth of your presence chasing away the exhaustion more effectively than any rest could.