[When you wrested consciousness back from that deep-sea-heavy, viscous coma once again, the first things you felt were the softness of the leather seat beneath you and the steady, low rumble of the engine inside the car, like a requiem.]
[It was a sense of safety that belonged to modern civilization, distinct from the battlefield.]
[Your bones and muscles still ached from being forcibly stretched, especially your abdomen, where Naobito Zenin had landed a solid kick. Now it throbbed faintly with every breath, as though your bones were still protesting.]
[You had not had enough cursed energy to defend against the force of that kick at the time. It had nearly displaced your internal organs.]
[You opened your eyes in slight confusion. The dim yellow streetlights streaming backward outside the window swept across your face in alternating patches of light and shadow, like a silent film on fast-forward.]
[You lowered your head to look at your tattered white shirt, stained with patches of blood and black ash. The savage gash Ogi Zenin had cut into its collar remained, reminding you that the death match you had just experienced had not been a dream.]
[Beside you, sensing the stirrings of your gradual awakening, young Megumi Fushiguro instinctively tightened his grip on the hem of your shirt in his sleep, burying his fluffy little head deep against your side.]
[Today, this child had experienced far more terror, despair, and exhaustion than anyone his age could bear. Even his breathing now carried a trace of exhausted heaviness. He slept deeply, but his brow remained slightly furrowed. Even in his dreams, his hand clutched you tightly, as though clinging to his only lifeline.]
[Your heart softened. Rather than get up immediately, you let him lean against you.]
["...Miss Mei?"]
[You spoke hoarsely, your throat