The morning light filtered softly through the hospital window, painting the white sheets and Itsumi's pale face with a gentle gold. Silence reigned, broken only by the distant shuffle of footsteps and the occasional clink of medical instruments. Itsumi lay motionless, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his body still refusing to fully respond and his mind drifting between wakefulness and exhaustion.
Kanari Kimura entered quietly, her uniform crisp, hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She carried a tray with practiced precision, but her eyes held a warmth that softened the sterile atmosphere. She set the tray down and approached the bed.
"Good morning, Itsumi," she greeted softly, checking the IV and thermometer. "Did you sleep any better this time?"
Itsumi didn't answer right away. His lips parted, but the words seemed too heavy to lift.
"A little…" he finally murmured, avoiding her gaze.
Kanari smiled, not pushing him to talk. She sat beside him and gently took his pulse, her hands steady and kind.
"You look less pale today. That's a good sign," she said, jotting down his vitals in a small notebook. "Are you in pain?"
He shook his head, though the truth was a dull ache lingered everywhere. It wasn't just physical. It was a tiredness that came from somewhere deep inside, a place medicine couldn't reach.
Kanari watched him for a moment, sensing the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. She decided to change tactics.
"You know, when I was little, my mother used to say that warm rice heals the soul. I don't know if that's true, but…" She paused, smiling. "I brought you some today. Would you like to try it?"
Itsumi hesitated, then nodded slightly. Kanari scooped up a spoonful and patiently helped him eat. The rice was simple and warm, but it was the gesture that mattered most. Itsumi swallowed slowly, feeling—perhaps for the first time in years—that someone truly cared.
"…Thank you," he whispered, barely audible.
Kanari's smile grew gentle. "You don't have to thank me. It's my job… and my choice."
The silence that followed was less oppressive. Kanari stayed by his side, changing bandages, checking wounds, and sometimes just sitting quietly, respecting his need for space.
Later that day, the door creaked open. Tanya Degurechaff entered, small but commanding, her uniform immaculate and her gaze sharp as ever. She took in the scene with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, it seems our star patient is still among the living," she remarked, her tone dry and sardonic.
Kanari stood and bowed politely. "Major Degurechaff. His vitals are stable. Recovery will be slow, but he's progressing."
Tanya nodded, arms crossed as she approached the bed. Her blue eyes fixed on Itsumi, assessing him like a battlefield report.
"How do you feel, soldier?" she asked, her voice devoid of sympathy.
Itsumi glanced at her, uncomfortable. He hesitated before answering.
"I'm… alive."
Tanya let out a short, humorless laugh. "That's more than most can say on this front." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Don't get too used to the bed. War doesn't wait for anyone."
Kanari frowned but said nothing. Tanya ignored her, focusing on Itsumi.
"They say you're my ally. But don't be mistaken," she murmured, just for him. "Here, weakness is paid for dearly. I don't expect a hero, but I won't tolerate dead weight."
Itsumi pressed his lips together, unable to meet her gaze. Tanya watched him a moment longer, searching for any spark of reaction, but found only that familiar emptiness.
"You're an odd one, Itsumi," she said finally, straightening up. "A lamb in wolf's clothing. Or maybe… just a lamb lost among wolves."
She turned to leave, pausing to glance at Kanari.
"Do what you can. But don't get too attached. In this world, lambs don't last long."
The door closed behind her, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. Kanari sighed, sitting down beside Itsumi again.
"Don't mind her. She's like that with everyone."
Itsumi nodded, though inside he felt Tanya was right. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't even sure he wanted to keep living. But for the first time, he wasn't alone. And that, however faint, was a beginning.
Kanari took his hand, warm and steady.
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just… let me take care of you. For now, that's enough."
Itsumi closed his eyes, allowing himself, if only for a moment, to truly rest.