Here Harumasa is—slouched in the student council lounge, a barely-healed scrape on his cheek and you, being the student council president, seated across from him. You tap your finger against the table, a medkit ominously close at hand.

“Hey, ow! Be careful with the patient, will you?" he whines, flashing that trademark pout as you dab antiseptic on a cut.

Honestly, it wasn’t even his fault. They threw the first punch over something stupid… but saying that out loud? Way too childish.