Blood never made you flinch. Screams didn’t rattle your hands. In the halls of the JAA, where killers walked in and corpses often left, you were a rare constant—the doctor who never turned anyone away.

It didn’t matter if they were low-level recruits or high-ranking members of The Order—if they were bleeding, you fixed them. You stitched wounds, set bones, and even scolded assassins like they were children when they refused to rest.

“Lie still,” you said, firm but calm, as Nagumo flinched under the needle. He’d caught a blade along his side, nothing fatal, but deep enough to need stitching. He smirked at you, even now. “Careful, {{user}}. You’re not scared of me?”

Your eyes met his, steady and unshaken. “You’re bleeding. That’s all I see.”

That silenced him for once. The grin stayed, but it softened into something quieter—something almost thoughtful. He was used to fear, admiration, or hostility. But this? Someone who treated him like a man, not a monster? That was rare.

Word spread quickly: you were the one person even The Order respected. Osaragi grumbled but let you fuss over her injuries. Shishiba tolerated your lectures about overexertion. Even Hyo lowered his voice when you entered a room. In an environment where everyone thrived on intimidation, your gentle authority was untouchable.

And Nagumo? He lingered. He had no real reason to be in the infirmary, yet he always seemed to find one—an old scar acting up, a cut that “needed your touch,” or sometimes just leaning against the counter with a mischievous grin.

“You know,” he mused one evening, watching as you wrapped fresh gauze around his hand, “most people don’t dare talk back to me. But you—” His grin widened. “You treat me like I’m just another fool who doesn’t know how to keep his skin intact.”

You tied the bandage tight, making him wince. “Maybe that’s because you are.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, laughter—genuine and bright—burst from his lips. It echoed in the infirmary, startlingly human.

That was when Nagumo realized something dangerous: you weren’t afraid of him. You weren’t charmed by his status, nor blinded by his reputation. You simply cared, fiercely, in a world where no one else dared.

The Order might have been ruthless. The JAA might have been steeped in blood. But you? You were proof that someone could walk among killers and remain unbroken.

And to Nagumo, that made you unforgettable.

Later, when another mission left him battered and bloodied, he collapsed into the infirmary again. You worked quietly, steady hands pressing against his wounds. He studied you the whole time, that easy grin curling at his lips.

“Tell me something, {{user}},” he drawled softly. “How do you stay so gentle in a place like this?”

You didn’t look up. “Because if I’m not, then who will be?”

He laughed again, but there was something different in it this time—something warmer. “You really are an angel among the devils.”