The Infirmary Stop
The "Ice Queen" was melting. As they walked, the adrenaline that had fueled Himari's victory began to drain away, replaced by a hollow ache in her stomach and a heavy, dragging weakness in her limbs. She followed Kiro's back in silence, her usual sharp tongue stilled by sheer exhaustion. Reian trailed just a step behind her, a silent shadow.
Kiro came to a sudden halt in front of the infirmary. Himari raised a tired eyebrow, her voice barely a murmur. "What are we doing here?"
"I need fresh bandages," Kiro said, his eyes scanning her face with clinical intensity. "And you need to change the one on your temple. It's a mess."
Himari didn't argue. She didn't have the energy to be stubborn. Inside, the room smelled sharply of antiseptic and winter air. A lone nurse was busy at a far table, wrapping the hand of a boy who had taken a hit during the matches. In this academy, if you weren't bleeding out, you weren't a priority.
"Tablets and bandages are in the third cabinet. Help yourselves," the nurse called out without looking up.
Kiro's movements were efficient. While Reian wandered toward the cabinet to grab something for a nagging headache, Kiro caught Himari's wrist. She didn't flinch—she knew his touch by now. He led her to a wooden stool and pushed down gently on her shoulders.
"Sit," he commanded. "I'm changing it. Don't move."
Himari looked up at him, the harsh fluorescent lights reflecting in her crimson eyes. "You said you needed bandages for yourself," she murmured. "Where are you hurt?"
"First, I change yours," Kiro countered smoothly. "And I'm not 'injured.' It's just a graze."
His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he peeled back the grime-caked bandage. Himari let out a sharp, tiny hiss as the cold air hit the raw skin.
"Quiet," Kiro whispered, though there was no bite in it. He soaked a cotton pad in antiseptic and pressed. It felt like a line of white-hot fire. Himari's eyes clamped shut, her fingers curling tightly into the edge of the wooden stool. Kiro didn't pull away; he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, grounding her until the sting faded.
"Open your eyes, Himari," he said softly. "It's done."
When she blinked, the sharpest pain had passed into a dull throb. Kiro was already finishing the gauze, his face inches from hers, focused entirely on fixing what was broken.
The moment he stepped back, Himari stood up, reaching for the supplies. "Now you sit down. I'll do yours."
"I told you, I don't need it," Kiro said. Before her fingers could even touch the packaging, he had snapped it open with practiced ease and slapped it firmly onto a scrape on his elbow.
Himari blinked, her hand frozen in mid-air. He was already turning away, the bandage perfectly in place before she could even try to help. Nearby, Reian watched them with a tired, knowing look.
"Let's go to the mess hall," Reian cut in as a bell echoed through the corridor—the signal that the matches were over. "I'm starving."
The Mess Hall
The mess hall was a chaotic sea of different uniforms. Himari grabbed a tray and stayed close to Kiro and Reian, moving through the lines in a practiced routine. The menu was simple but heavy: warm soup, thick bread, eggs, and salad. Fuel for the body.
Himari was the last to grab her bread. By the time she turned, tray in hand, Kiro and Reian had already disappeared into the crowd. Her heart sank. As she navigated the narrow gaps between the long tables, she felt the weight of a hundred gazes. Students stopped talking to stare.
She kept her head down, her silver hair falling like a curtain to hide her face. Every hushed laugh felt like it was directed at her. Was it her eyes? The blood on her lip? She felt small—a stark contrast to the girl who had just dominated the mats.
Finally, she spotted them at the far end of a long table, tucked away from the noise. Reian and Kiro were leaning in close, talking in low, hushed voices.
"Where were you?" Reian asked as she set her tray down. "We thought you were right behind us."
"Looking for you two," she muttered, sitting down. Their presence acted like a shield, making the whispers of the "Elite" fade into the background.
Reian looked at her tray, then back at her, his forehead scrunching. "Where is your dinner?"
"Right here. Stop asking questions and eat yours," Himari said flatly.
"Where is the main food? The rice and curry?" Reian pressed, gesturing wildly at the other tables.
Himari began breaking her bread into small pieces. "I have it right here. I don't eat rice."
Reian shook his head, talking through a mouthful of curry. "Do you even know how early we're leaving? You should eat more. Don't come crying to me when your stomach starts growling louder than the wind halfway up the mountain."
Kiro stayed quiet, but he nudged a portion of his untouched side-dish toward the center of the table—a silent offer. Himari ignored the food, but the tension in her shoulders relaxed.
She looked out at the room, calculating. Six different academies. Most looked like they had never spent a night in the dirt. They looked like students. She looked at Kiro and Reian. They didn't have the flashy gear, but they had the eyes of survivors.
"What were you two discussing before I got here?" she asked, leaning in.
Kiro's expression turned serious. "They're handing out the camping gear tonight. Bags, tents, supplies. We were dividing the weight. We need to be smart; if we don't plan who carries the heavy tools, we'll burn out before we reach the site."
Himari felt the exhaustion pulling at her muscles again, but the "Ice Queen" mask was back. If they were handing out gear in the middle of the night, she wasn't going to be the one to fall behind.
"Fine," she said, her voice cold and professional. "Let's finish this. I want to see what kind of gear they think we can carry."