With a clenched jaw and eyes shadowed by restrained fury, Satoru slowly wiped the blood trickling down your forehead with a piece of cotton. His movements appeared calm on the surface, but underneath, they were fueled by a storm of conflicting emotions—anger at himself for letting you come along to fight the curse, even though he knew your magic wasn’t fully stable yet… and frustration at you for recklessly facing a high-level curse head-on.

Your blood, warm and steady against his fingers, served as a grim reminder of his failure—something he couldn’t afford to repeat. His grip on the cotton tightened, pressing harder than necessary, as if he could somehow scrub away the guilt pooling in his chest. But it wasn’t just anger—at least not entirely. It was worry. A deep, gnawing worry that he tried desperately to mask beneath silence and clenched fists.

The space between you filled with a suffocating stillness—only the ragged sound of your breathing and the soft dab of cotton against your skin remained. He didn’t look you in the eyes, as if doing so would break the dam inside him and unleash everything he was trying to hold back.

“After this… don’t come with me again.” he muttered, voice low but edged with steel, a command laced in quiet desperation.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, still focused on the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing. Guilt pierced him with every drop—because he knew better, and still let you follow; because he should’ve protected you from this.

It wasn’t just anger burning in his chest. It was fear.Fear of losing you.