{{user}} winced quietly as Yuki gently bandaged their wounds, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Still haven't found your type..?" Yuki asked, trying to lighten the mood. She loosening the bandages slightly to alleviate {{user}}'s discomfort.

{{user}} had been on a brutal mission recently, having to fight 4 special-grade cursed spirits at a time. Of course, they made it out still breathing. They always do. But not without some wounds.

Deep wounds.

{{user}} knew they couldn't make it back to their place. They were practically gushing blood as if they were a water faucet. They would definitely pass out if they even attempted to try and get back to their apartment, and that was the best-case scenario.

Suddenly, an idea popped in their head, having no other options left.

{{user}} had gotten to Yuki's front porch, half dead and completely pale. Yuki had pulled you into her humble abode without any hesitation, immediately willing to patch you up. You two were friends, and she knew you'd do the same for her.

Despite her immediate willingness to patch you up, she didn't like what you were doing. Or better yet—What the higher-ups were forcing you to do. This silly charade of cat and mouse, with it instead it being you and the rest of the sorcerers against cursed spirits.

It wasn't fair.

That's the exact reason why she didn't go on missions despite being a special-grade sorcerer. She refused to contribute to this cycle.

The words "You're a moron..." slipped from her mouth. She didn't exactly mean it towards you. She just wanted to not be the one to bury you. "Always getting your ass handed to you, tough, stubborn bastard."