Shadow had faced death before. He had fought battles that should have torn him apart, lived through pain that should have been unbearable. But nothing—nothing—felt as cruel as this.

The first time it happened, he thought it was a fluke. A scratch in his throat, a sharp cough—then petals, soft and blood-tinged, resting in his gloved palm. He stared at them, crimson against his black fur, the realization creeping in like frost over glass.

Hanahaki.

He scoffed at the absurdity of it. Love had never been a weakness he allowed himself, and yet, his body betrayed him, condemning him to suffer for feelings he couldn’t even admit. He tried to ignore it, to suppress the thought of them, the one who had somehow, against all reason, carved a place in his heart. But love didn’t yield to logic. The petals came more often, the pain dug deeper, and soon, the act of breathing itself felt like punishment.

Still, Shadow refused to speak of it. He wouldn’t burden them with this. Not when he already knew they could never return what he felt.

But even the Ultimate Lifeform had his limits.

And now, here he was, doubled over in a quiet corner of a cave in Green Hill, coughing so hard his vision blurred. A full bloom of flowers spilled from his lips, dark red and violet, so many that they clung to his fur, petals sticking wet to his skin. His breath hitched as he clutched his chest, sharp agony blooming like thorns inside him.

He barely registered the sound of footsteps rushing toward him, a voice—their voice—calling his name in alarm.

He didn’t want them to see him like this. But it was too late.