Retsu carefully finished wrapping the last layer of bandage around Rindou's hand, her slender fingers moving with practiced precision.
The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, blending with the sterile chill of the infirmary.
She tied the bandage neatly, checked the tightness, then leaned back slightly to examine her work.
"It's not as bad as it looks," she said, her voice calm and composed. "Whoever did the first aid knew what they were doing. You were lucky, Rindou. A few more minutes of training and you might have torn the flesh deeper. As it is, you should avoid using your hands for a few days."
Rindou watched her hands, flexing her fingers gently before nodding in understanding.
"I see. I'll try to be careful." Her tone was calm, but there was a small hint of frustration in it, the sound of someone who didn't like being told to stop moving.
Retsu smiled faintly, adjusting her glasses as she tidied the medical tools on the tray. "Who helped you before you came here? The bandaging was clean, better than most I've seen from students."
Rindou raised her gaze and replied, "A kouhai. Tadano Taro. He happened to pass by when I was practicing."
At that, Retsu paused for a moment, as if recalling the name, before her expression softened.
"Ah, that one," she said, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. "The kid who always carries a first aid kit around, right? Hard to miss him. He's a bit of an oddball."
Rindou chuckled softly, shaking her head.
"Yes, that's him. Honestly, who carries something like that all the time?" Her smile was small but genuine, the kind of smile that came from mild disbelief rather than mockery.
Retsu joined in her quiet laughter, a low and knowing sound, before sighing as she turned to place the used cotton in a bin.
"You'd be surprised how often the odd ones are the most dependable. Still, you should take it easy for a while, President. Rest, avoid stress, and don't push yourself too hard. You're too diligent for your own good."
Rindou nodded, though her eyes carried hesitation.
"Can I still go to class?" she asked, her tone polite but cautious, like someone who already knew what the answer would be.
Retsu crossed her arms and looked at her with a faintly exasperated smile. "If you're asking as the student council president, then yes, you can. But if you're asking as my patient, I'd recommend not to. It depends on which side of you wins today."
Rindou smiled faintly, understanding the gentle rebuke, and stood up from the infirmary bed. "Then I'll go to class. I can't afford to fall behind."
Retsu gave a small nod, approving but resigned. "I thought you'd say that."
She glanced at Rindou's hands one last time, then asked casually, "By the way, how did you even end up like this? You said training, but you don't usually push yourself this recklessly."
Rindou froze slightly, her expression flickering between pride and embarrassment.
She turned her eyes aside, her lips pressing into a thin line before she finally answered, "I... got carried away. I was thinking about that Kageyama Seijirou again. He's been too smug lately. Someone needs to remind him that this school still has rules."
Retsu's hands stopped moving for a brief moment. The light in her eyes shifted, something unreadable crossing her face.
"Seijirou, huh..." she repeated softly, her tone quieter, almost distant.
Rindou caught the change immediately. Her sharp blue eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head.
"Are you close to him, Retsu-sensei?" she asked carefully.
Retsu blinked, as if snapping out of a thought, and looked up at her with her usual gentle smile.
"Why do you think that?" she replied smoothly, as though nothing had happened.
Rindou didn't back down. "You used his first name."
There was a beat of silence before Retsu chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're sharp. As expected of the student council president." Her eyes softened, though the smile she gave carried a touch of melancholy. "Let's just say it's... complicated."
Rindou frowned faintly but didn't press further. The tone in Retsu's voice told her that the nurse didn't want to elaborate.
She picked up her bag with her good hand, nodded politely, and thanked her. "Thank you, Sensei. For the treatment... and the advice."
Retsu smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "Anytime. Try not to destroy yourself over that boy, alright? He's not worth your hands."
Rindou gave a small, tired smile at that, turned, and left the infirmary, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
But as the door slid shut behind her, Retsu stood there, her smile slowly fading, her gaze dropping to the floor.
"Seijirou…" she whispered softly under her breath, her expression a mix of concern and something older, heavier, that she didn't let anyone see.
*
*
*
Seijirou walked down the long, empty hallway, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor.
The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting shifting gold patterns across the tiles.
His mind, however, was far from calm.
He had just finished discussing things with Shou and the others, setting up a plan to stay behind after school and check out the situation that Shou had reported earlier.
He could have ignored it. He really could have. It wasn't his problem, not directly. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself, the image of that event—the one that would unfold if he did nothing—kept playing in his head like a curse.
Kobayashi Rindou, the proud and untouchable student council president, being broken and humiliated beyond repair.
The mere thought of it made his stomach twist in disgust. He had seen a lot of bad ends before, but something about that one hit differently.
Maybe because, for all her arrogance, she didn't deserve that. Or rather, no one deserves that fate.
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he continued down the hall.
The decision to get involved wasn't born out of heroism. It was simply conscience, or maybe irritation.
He hated unnecessary suffering, especially when he could stop it with minimal effort.
That was all there was to it.
Still, it annoyed him to no end. This was supposed to be a world where he could just go through the motions, keep his head down, and live quietly without getting dragged into the ridiculous drama that revolved around these so-called heroines.
But fate seemed to have other plans.
His mind drifted to the newest problem attached to his group.
Fujiwara Touka. The timid girl with a brilliant mind, the one who somehow thought lending her library card and following a delinquent around was completely normal behavior.
He could already imagine her showing up later with that awkward smile, holding her hands together, too shy to talk but too stubborn to leave.
He let out another long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"That girl's going to be trouble," he muttered under his breath.
He could already see it—Suzune, being her usual soft-hearted self, had taken a liking to Touka and would probably bring her into their group without a second thought.
And Touka, who had never really had a friend before, would cling to that kindness like it was a lifeline.
It wasn't hard to predict what would happen next.
The rumors would spread, people would whisper, and Touka, who was already treated as an oddball, would become another target.
And all because she decided to hang around him.
He clicked his tongue in irritation.
"These heroines really do know how to give a man a headache," he said, his tone dry.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, his mind heavy with unwanted thoughts.
Every step felt slower than the last.
First it was Rei.
Then Suzune.
Now Touka. And soon, if things went according to the script of this cursed world, Rindou would be next.
He stopped briefly by the window, glancing outside at the school courtyard bathed in soft sunlight.
For a moment, he wondered if it was too late to just walk away from all of this, pretend he never knew what would happen, and let the world play itself out like it was meant to.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn't.
Seijirou sighed once more, quieter this time.
"I really need to stop caring," he said to himself, but even he didn't believe it.
With that, he resumed walking toward the classroom, the faint murmur of students in the distance growing louder as the day dragged on, bringing with it another set of troubles he never asked for.