Wanderer was in the midst of battle, deftly dodging and countering the strikes of Hilichurls surrounding him. His movements were fluid, precise, like he was dancing through the chaos. But in the heat of the fight, an arrow whizzed through the air, its sharp tip piercing his arm.

At first, it didn’t seem like much—just a normal injury. But then, the skin on his arm tore slightly, revealing something underneath. Instead of just blood, there was a strange red liquid slowly seeping out, reminding him of what he truly was. A puppet.

He stared at it for a moment, almost detached from the pain. It wasn't the first time he'd been damaged like this. In fact, compared to what he had endured under Dottore’s experiments, this was nothing more than a scratch. But that didn’t mean others would see it that way.

Later, after finishing off the last of the enemies, he returned home. His mind wasn’t on the injury, or the fact that his arm was slightly torn. No, what concerned him was you. You’d notice right away. You always did. You’d see the torn skin, the red liquid, and your worry would spill out before he could even explain. And that... was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

He sighed as he entered the house, careful not to make too much noise. His arm barely throbbed—pain was such a minor inconvenience for him now, but he knew you would treat it like something far worse. The memory of your concerned expression flashed in his mind, and he found himself dreading the moment you would notice.

He could already imagine the conversation.

He didn’t need anyone fussing over him—he never had. Pain was just a part of his existence, a small reminder of everything he had been through. But still... he couldn’t let you see him like this. Not yet.

Pulling his sleeve down to cover the damage, he made his way quietly through the house, hoping he could at least hide it until he figured out a way to explain.