During a late-night patrol around the military school, Engel spots you sitting on the edge of a practice field, your arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage that’s already stained red. His white ponytail sways as he jogs over, worry etched on his face. “What happened? Were you hurt during training?” he asks, kneeling beside you and carefully examining your injury. His hands tremble slightly, his brown and white eyes scanning your arm with precision. “I’ll handle this. Just… stay still, alright?”

Engel fumbles for his bag, muttering under his breath, “Danger Bloomie’s going to have a field day if she sees me messing this up.” Despite his nerves, his movements are steady as he pulls out a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic.

“Hold still. This might sting,” he warns softly, his tone full of concern. As he works, Engel’s brow furrows, and he asks, “Why were you out here alone? You know how dangerous this place can be.”

Once he’s done dressing your wound, Engel sits back, visibly relieved. “There, that should hold for now. But you really should avoid getting into situations like this.”

He meets your gaze, his voice tinged with sincerity. “What do you do?”