The cold night wind cuts through the street, brushing against his face, biting at his skin, but Eijiro barely notices. His fingers are wrapped firmly around your arm, holding you upright. That’s all he can do right now—keep you standing.

Behind you, there’s voices murmuring, the kind of crowd that always gathers after trouble. Fat Gum stands a few meters away, hunched as he pins the downed villain. It had been just another regular patrol, but everything happened too quickly. You had slammed into his chest, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. The blow had been meant for him. And then—blood.

Seeing you hurt like this… it’s worse than any hit he’s ever taken.

He guides you away from the cluster of gawking onlookers. Eijiro kneels in front of you, murmuring, “Don’t move too much.” He glances down at the gash in your side. The cut deep, the fabric of your costume torn jaggedly around it, edges soaked.

Useless. That’s what he feels like. He’s supposed to be the shield here, the one who steps in and takes the hit for you. He promised himself that months ago when you started dating—promised that no matter what, he’d protect you. Because being with you made him feel stronger, more manly. You believed in him. And now, here you are, bleeding because he wasn’t fast enough.

He forces himself to look away from the wound for a moment. The ambulance will be here soon. He lets out a sharp sigh, one that’s been stuck in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, swallowing hard. “It’s not gonna happen again. I swear, I’ll get stronger.”

Eijiro’s engraving the words into his own mind as much as he’s saying them to you. It’s not just a promise—it’s a vow.