The air in the room was heavy with sound—monitors beeping in rapid rhythm, the sharp cries of a newborn cutting through like blades, and the frantic shuffling of attendants moving in and out.

But Tengen’s gaze was fixed on only one thing: her.

{{user}} lay on the bed, pale and still, eyes locked on the ceiling as though she were a thousand miles away. Her chest rose and fell shallowly, the glow of life around her dimmed by something he couldn’t reach. She didn’t look toward the child, didn’t react to the cries, didn’t even flinch when he said her name.

“Hey,” Tengen’s voice broke, deeper than usual, stripped of its usual flamboyance. He leaned forward, taking her hand in both of his. “You hear me? You did it. You brought life into this world—flashy, strong. You’re here, and so is the baby.”

Her pulse raced on the monitor, mismatched against her stillness. The women beside him tried to tend to the child, but Tengen stayed planted at her side, unwilling to let her slip further away. He brushed a trembling hand across her hair, his forehead pressing to hers, grounding her with his warmth.

“Don’t disappear on me now,” he whispered, low and steady, as though he could anchor her back to the present with his voice alone. “I need you to come back. Look at me. Just me.”

And though her gaze remained distant, he refused to let go, refusing to let her drift under.