The medbed rolled through the sterile corridors.
Lyra walked on the left, her face pale with worry. Commander Adebayo moved on the right, her expression carefully controlled. Nurses pushed the bed forward with practiced efficiency, their footsteps echoing against the white walls.
Eren's eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, everything was blurry—shapes and colors swimming in his vision. He could make out Lyra's silver hair, Adebayo's sharp silhouette. But the details slipped away like water through fingers.
He closed his eyes again.
The noise faded with him.
Light.
Eren opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the brightness above him. White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The steady beep of monitors.
He tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through his body—sharp, searing, relentless. His muscles screamed. His bones protested. He collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath.
He looked down at himself.
Bandages. Everywhere. His arms, his chest, his legs—all wrapped in layers of white. His right hand was visible, the violet markings faint but present.
He turned his head.
Lyra was asleep in a chair beside him, her head tilted, her silver hair spilling across her shoulder. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her clothes rumpled.
Eren's gaze drifted to her hand.
It was resting on the edge of the bed, close to his.
He reached out, his bandaged fingers brushing against hers.
Then the memory hit him.
The Blue Riftguard. Its burning eyes. Its crushing strength.
"You are not strong enough to even look at me."
His heart ached.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The door opened.
Michael walked in, his footsteps quiet against the tile floor. He looked at Eren, a small bag in his hand.
"Hey," he said softly. "You woke up."
Eren turned his head, trying to speak. His voice came out as a rasp.
"Don't say anything," Michael said quickly. "Your voice is sore. Save your strength."
He set the bag on the bedside table.
"I brought you some fruit. Just leave them here."
Michael paused, looking at Eren's bandaged form.
"I need to head back to training with Tom. Get well soon, okay?"
Eren managed a weak nod.
Michael left.
Grace sat alone in her room.
The silence pressed in around her, heavy and suffocating. Commander Adebayo's words echoed in her mind, playing on an endless loop.
"Not even the strongest Supporter could heal him."
She stared at the wall, her hands gripping a pillow.
"Then what makes a difference if you try?"
The words cut deeper than any wound.
"You're weak."
"The Order's greatest asset will not die."
Grace held the pillow tighter, burying her face in it.
"So this is how they see me," she muttered. "Weak. Useless."
A knock at the door.
"Hey, Grace." Mark's voice was muffled through the wood. "I'm heading to the cafeteria. You want to come?"
Grace looked at the door.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she stood, setting the pillow aside.
"Sure," she said. "Just a minute."
She dressed quickly, wiping her eyes before opening the door.
Mark was waiting, her expression gentle.
"You okay?"
Grace forced a smile.
"Yeah. Let's go."
They walked to the cafeteria together.
The training yard was empty.
Tom and Michael stood across from each other, their stances ready. Tom's hair was unbound, his eyes focused. Michael's hands held a single card, its surface shimmering with void energy.
"Ready?" Tom asked.
Michael nodded.
"Then come."
Michael threw the card.
It exploded mid-air, splitting into three smaller cards—Attack, Defense, Switch. He grabbed them, each one glowing with controlled power.
"Impressive," Tom said. "Your output is efficient."
Michael attacked.
The cards flew toward Tom, each one precise, each one carefully measured. Tom dodged, but Michael was already moving, his next card already drawn.
The fight continued.
When it ended, Tom was grinning.
"Your minimum void energy usage is excellent. Maximum impact, minimum waste. That's the mark of a skilled Hunter."
Michael's face flushed.
He quickly covered it, turning away.
"I don't need praise from a kid," he muttered.
Tom raised an eyebrow.
"You want ice cream?"
Michael froze.
Then, slowly, he turned back.
"...Sure."
Tom helped him to his feet.
They changed into normal clothes.
Michael wore a simple hoodie and jeans. Tom wore his usual jacket and bandana. They walked out of the headquarters together, the afternoon sun warm on their faces.
"I'm paying," Tom said.
"I'm not letting a kid pay for me."
"I'm a senior Hunter."
"That's not the same thing."
Tom laughed.
"Fine. You pay."
Michael grumbled.
But he was almost smiling.
They reached the ice cream shop.
The line was short. Tom ordered a double scoop of chocolate. Michael ordered vanilla with sprinkles.
They sat on a bench outside, eating in comfortable silence.
"You know," Tom said, licking his cone, "you're not as annoying as I thought."
Michael snorted.
"Thanks. You're not as insufferable as I thought."
"High praise."
They laughed.
Back in the medical bay, Lyra stirred.
She blinked, her eyes focusing on Eren's face. He was asleep, his breathing steady.
She looked down.
Her hand was resting against his.
She didn't pull away.
End of Chapter