The hospital room was cold—quiet, despite the muffled sounds of clerics and medical staff outside the door.

Pale light filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor and bed sheets. The sterile smell of magic-infused salves clung to the air, faint but ever-present.

And there he was. Finral. Lying still. So still it scared you.

His usually expressive face was pale, his breath shallow and slow.

White bandages wrapped tightly around his torso and arm, and a faint trace of mana occasionally sparked and dimmed above his skin—a sign of the healing magic still lingering to accelerate recovery.

But even with all of that, it was clear. He wasn’t waking up yet.

Dr. Owen had said it wasn’t a coma. It was rest. A defense mechanism. His body, overwhelmed by the damage, had shut everything down to preserve itself.

Physically, he was safe. But he hadn’t stirred once since he was brought in, unconscious and soaked in blood.

His own brother did this. Langris.

You had heard the rumors. You’d seen the tension between them before, but no one could’ve predicted that it would erupt like that.

That Finral would stand between his brother’s rage and innocent lives, only to be struck down with murderous intent.

It wasn’t a duel. It was execution.

If Asta hadn’t interfered, if Luck hadn’t bolted into action, if Yami hadn’t arrived—Finral would’ve died.

You sat at his bedside now, unmoving, fingers loosely wrapped around his hand. It was warm, but lifeless. As if it only remembered your touch in some faint, unconscious part of him.

There were a thousand things you could say—but none of them felt right. Not now. Not when the only sound between you was the steady, thin rhythm of his breath.

You squeezed his hand gently.

You wanted to scold him. For stepping into that fight. For not backing down. For smiling with that same gentle face even when death was inches away.

That had always been Finral. Selfless to a fault. Willing to risk everything—even against someone like Langris—if it meant protecting others.

And now, he lay here, broken.