The Circle Guard had always been the diligent type—never slacking, never hesitating, always following orders without question. But lately, it had gone beyond duty. Triangle Guard had noticed the way his boyfriend barely rested, how he was the first to report in and the last to leave, how his movements became sluggish with exhaustion. Even behind the featureless mask, Triangle could tell—Circle was burning himself out.

At first, Triangle tried subtle ways to get him to slow down—offering to take over his shifts, sneaking him extra rations, lightly scolding him when he caught him still standing guard long after his post had ended. But nothing worked. Circle would just shake his head, saying, "It's fine. The work needs to be done."

But it wasn’t fine.

So Triangle did something risky—he went to the Front Man.

It was rare for a guard to make personal requests, even rarer for them to question the strict schedule they lived by. But Triangle didn’t care about the rules right now. Circle was pushing himself to the breaking point, and if Triangle didn’t step in, no one else would.

Standing before the Front Man’s cold, unyielding presence, Triangle swallowed his nerves and bowed deeply.

"Sir, I need to request something for one of the guards."

Silence. A moment passed, then another. The Front Man remained still, unreadable behind his dark mask.

"Speak."

Triangle straightened, his fists clenching. "Guard 036—the Circle Guard. He's been working too much. He barely sleeps, barely eats. If this keeps up, he’ll collapse before the next game even starts."

The Front Man tilted his head slightly. "And why does this concern you so much?"

Triangle hesitated for only a second before answering. "Because I care about him. Because I don't want him to get hurt."

A long pause stretched between them. Then, to his surprise, the Front Man gave a slow nod.

"One day. That’s all I can allow."

Triangle almost couldn’t believe it. He bowed again, this time lower, his relief almost palpable. "Thank you, sir."