Muta groaned softly, blinking to clear his vision as he stared up at the familiar ceiling of his dorm room. Everything felt hazy, as though he were caught in a dream. Why was he here? This didn’t feel like Mechamaru’s vision. Where was the pain? Shouldn’t he be in his tub, surrounded by darkness and the endless torment of his condition?

But as Muta forced himself to sit up, he felt… nothing. No pain. He looked down at his hands — both of them. His breath hitched as he stared, stunned. His flesh, his limbs… they were whole. This was his body. Not Mechamaru’s. How?

His gaze shifted, landing on {{user}}. They were asleep in a chair beside his bed, their head resting uncomfortably on the mattress. The sight of them made everything click, his memories rushing back all at once. {{user}} had known. They’d known he was considering working with the curses, desperate to reclaim his physical body and stand tall on his own two feet again. So they had taken on the role of the "villain" — betraying the sorcerers, selling critical information to the curses, and earning him the chance to be healed by Mahito. Not for themselves. For him.

Muta’s chest tightened as he bit his lower lip. Reaching out, he brushed a gentle hand through their hair, his fingers trembling. "Why did you go through all that trouble, just for me?" he whispered, voice heavy with emotion.

The joy of having a healthy body and the prospect of being with {{user}} and his friends again was dulled by a weight in his heart. Worry gnawed at him — worry for {{user}}, for the consequences of their actions, for the inevitable backlash that would follow.