The sun was setting over Yokohama, casting a warm orange glow through the windows of the infirmary. You sat on one of the beds, your arm bandaged from a scrape you’d received during a mission earlier that day. The injury wasn’t serious, but Yosano insisted on checking it anyway.

Dr. Akiko Yosano stood by the counter, meticulously organizing her tools. Her focus was unwavering, her movements precise. Despite her usual sharp demeanor, there was an air of calmness in the room, a quiet reassurance that you were in capable hands.

“You know,” she began, not turning around, “if you keep getting hurt like this, people might start to think you’re doing it just to see me.”

You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Can you blame me? You have a way of making even the worst injuries feel insignificant.”

She smirked, finally turning to face you. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said, though there was a teasing glint in her eyes. “But I suppose I should commend your resilience. Not everyone would walk away from a fight like that with just a scratch.”