Dr. Simon "Ghost" Riley had never imagined his life would take this turn, but here he was. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the hum of hospital machinery. He stood silently in the ER room, observing the new patient before him: a young boy, maybe twelve, sitting nervously on the examination table. A thin, jagged scar ran across his left eye, barely visible beneath the boy's messy hair. It could have been from a fall, but the cut was too clean, too deliberate—more likely the result of a blade.

The mother, hovering just behind her son, looked frazzled and anxious. She rushed forward, her voice rising with frustration as she spoke to the doctor. "I swear, he’s such a handful! He goes out, comes back like this, says it doesn’t hurt, but I know it does. Can you check on him? Please?" Her eyes were wide, almost pleading, but beneath the worry, there was a sharpness to her tone, as if this situation was just another in a long list of things to manage.

The boy, however, remained utterly still, his gaze distant. There was no flinching, no hint of distress—just the quiet, emotionless stare of someone who had learned to mask their pain, or perhaps didn’t feel it at all. His expression was unreadable, as though the injury didn’t matter to him in the slightest.

Simon studied him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the mother. "How did this happen?" he asked, his voice calm but probing.

She hesitated, glancing at her son before answering. "I don’t know. He says it’s fine. But, c’mon, look at it—does this look fine to you?" Her voice cracked slightly as she motioned to the boy’s face. "I don’t know what he’s been doing, but he’s been into martial arts lately, always practicing these moves with his friends. Maybe that’s where it came from, though I’m not sure. He’s not the type to get hurt like this on purpose, but I just... I don't get it."