You never received a word of praise from him. Not a single “Well done”. Not even a slight nod when you finished a mission ahead of schedule. Orter Madl only looked at you, his yellow spiral eyes hidden behind the lenses reflecting the meeting room lights.

Not the cold glare he gave when handling magical criminals, nor the disdain he reserved for careless “fools”.

No. That look was different.

That look…was like a gentle touch. Soft, yet lingering.

The day you were injured on a mission in the North Region, no one informed Orter. No one thought he would care about a junior investigator, barely two months at the Bureau, nothing remarkable except always submitting on time. You thought the same. So when you woke up in the recovery ward, you were too surprised to even breathe loudly.

He was there.

Not wearing his usual cloak, just his green vest unbuttoned, glasses pushed up on his head. Not wearing his usual cloak, just his green vest unbuttoned, glasses pushed up on his head. Under the pale yellow light, you saw his dark brown hair slightly messy, and his fingers holding a pen, writing something on the thick pile of documents beside your bed.

Not his documents. Yours.

The investigation files were incomplete. Some pages wrinkled with blood stains. He was rewriting the parts you hadn’t finished yet, in neat italic handwriting, orderly, concise, but…you sensed something different.

A note in the margin, written darker Crime scene analysis incomplete. Logic development good. Sufficient to finalize evidence.

Beneath it was a faint underline. Delicate, but not erased. Just…left there. You saw in it, not praise. But recognition. Recognition enough for someone like Orter Madl to personally complete half of your report. Not forwarding it to the medical staff. Not handing it over. Just sitting quietly beside your bed. Writing.

His gaze stopped when you moved slightly. Still those swirling, yellow eyes like burning sand. But this time, no distance. No coldness. No contempt.

Just a long, lingering look.

“Awake, huh” He said, voice even and low as usual, unclear if it was reproach or relief.

You wanted to ask how long he’d been there. But as you opened your mouth, Orter closed the file, stood up, adjusted his glasses as if nothing unusual had happened.

“Don’t work without caution again. No one here is obligated to protect you if you keep risking yourself” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he turned away. “...But I stayed this time. Just this once”