The deafening chaos of the battle faded in an instant.

One moment there had been steel clashing against steel, explosions rattling the rooftop of Onigashima, and the roar of enemies closing in from every direction. The next—

—silence.

Well, not complete silence. Just the hollow creak of old wood somewhere above, the faint whistle of wind slipping through the broken roof beams.

A battered wooden support beam wedged into the rafters shuddered slightly where Trafalgar Law had appeared in its place.

The glow of his Room faded around him.

He had moved fast—faster than most people could even process. A clean switch. A precise extraction from the middle of the battlefield. It had been the quickest way to pull you out before the next wave of attacks landed.

But even that had limits.

And you…

You were already pushing past yours.

Your weight sagged heavily against him the moment the teleport ended, your arm slung loosely over his shoulder. Law’s grip tightened instinctively around your side, steadying you before gravity could finish the job and send you collapsing through the rafters.

Your body felt wrong in his hold.

Too loose. Too shaky.

He could feel the tremor running through you—small, involuntary shudders that came with every strained breath you tried to take.

Your chest barely lifted.

Law’s eyes flicked downward, sharp and assessing even through the dim lighting of the ruined structure.

Broken ribs.

He’d noticed it earlier during the fight—the way your movements had grown tighter, the slight hitch in your breathing whenever you twisted too fast. But you’d kept going anyway, stubborn as ever, blades swinging like nothing was wrong.

Typical.

Now the damage was impossible to ignore.

Each breath you dragged in came shallow and uneven, like your lungs were fighting against the pain clawing through your chest. Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his coat near his shoulder, more out of reflex than strength.

Your grip didn’t even tighten properly.

Law adjusted his hold, one hand braced firmly against your ribs to keep you upright while the other steadied your weight across his shoulders. Even through the fabric, he could feel the subtle tremors running through your body.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Tch.”

The sound left him under his breath, more irritation than surprise.

“You pushed yourself too far.”

It wasn’t exactly a reprimand. Just a blunt statement of fact.

The rooftop battle still raged somewhere below the rafters—distant crashes, muffled shouts, the occasional blast shaking dust loose from the beams overhead. But up here, tucked into the skeletal framework of the roof, it was just the two of you for the moment.

Law tilted his head slightly, listening to the pattern of your breathing.

Shallow.

Strained.

Every inhale clearly hurting.

His hand shifted slightly at your side, careful—far more careful than someone might expect from him—as he kept you balanced against him so the broken ribs wouldn’t grind together any worse than they already were.

“You’re not dying,” he muttered flatly after a moment, voice low and calm despite the chaos outside.