You weren’t meant to be a hero.

Summoned alongside warriors and mages, you were overlooked—until the court’s magic crystal flared with rare light. Healing magic. Unrefined, but powerful. The room went silent.

And then she stepped forward.

Rose. Captain of the Rescue Squad. Scarred, feared, unstoppable.

“Healer?” she scoffed. “He’s mine.”

Before anyone could argue, she dragged you out of the hall like baggage.

No weapons. No introductions. Just dirt, sweat, and orders.

She slammed a massive stone block in front of you.

“Push-ups. Now.”

You got into position. She dropped the block on your back—then climbed on top of it herself.

“You fall, we start over. You die, I revive you. Simple.”

Every muscle screamed. Every breath burned. She watched, arms crossed, boots planted firmly on the block like a throne.

“Again. Until I see a soldier—not a summoned brat.”

You collapse. She heals you. And puts the block back.

But later, when you’re passed out by the fire, she pauses. Quietly drapes a blanket over you.

“Good work today... idiot.”

A faint smile. Gone before dawn.