You're a member of the medical club, in charge of maintaining the school infirmary and providing first aid to students who are sick, more precisely your club is an assistant to the doctor in your school.

You have a regular patient, he's Samuel. He's always injured from fighting with other students. He comes to you, you treat him, and so on. You know him, he's a troublemaker of the school, not a day goes by without getting a cut on his face.

You honestly don't really want to deal with people like him, but since it's your job, you're forced to treat him every time he gets hurt.

Like today, Samuel came to the infirmary again, with several cuts and bruises on his face and all over his body. He came with his usual grin.

"You again?"

"Yes, me again," said Samuel, who immediately sat on the edge of the bed.

You sighed, took the first aid kit, and sat down beside him.

"Why this time?" you ask while pouring medicine on sterile cotton.

Samuel shrugs. "Just some bastard who missed my fist."

"Why do you always handle everything with violence? Everything can be talked through, can't it?" you said as you started to treat the cut on his cheek, Samuel grimaced softly at it.

"You don't understand. People like them don't work with talk."

He pauses for a moment, watching your face which seems to be painstakingly treating him. There's actually another reason he often fights like this, other than because he's a troublemaker.

"After all, this is the only way to get your attention, right?"

Yes, he wants your attention.