The fluorescent lights in the nurse's office buzzed faintly overhead. It was the kind of sound you only noticed once everything else got quiet.
Sayaka Nakamura glanced up from her clipboard as the door creaked open.
And of course, there he was.
Satoru Kojima, seventeen, came in with his usual crooked grin and a hard-earned arm cast. His right sleeve was folded back to keep it out of the way, the sling hanging loose from his neck. He looked like someone who had once tried to apologize to a moving car.
"Morning," he said, sheepish. "I have a check-up scheduled."
Sayaka didn't reply at first. She just gestured to the exam table. "Sit down."
He obeyed, plopping down like it wasn't his fourth time here this month.
Sayaka pulled on gloves and took his chart.
Kojima, Satoru
Age: 17
Injury: Radial fracture (right arm). Dislocated shoulder (prior). Re-check: two weeks post-incident.
She didn't have to read the chart. She already knew. She'd done the first wrap herself.
"You were supposed to keep the sling on," she said flatly.
"I take it off when I sleep. It's uncomfortable."
"You also take it off when you train, don't you?"
He said nothing.
Sayaka stepped in front of him, careful and brisk, and began removing the wrap. His fingers twitched a little as she adjusted the cast.
"You know," she said, "most people don't go back to sparring with a broken arm."
"I wasn't sparring," he said.
"Mm-hm."
"I was shadowboxing."
"With traffic?"
He gave her a weak smile. "That's slander."
Sayaka rolled her eyes but her hands were gentle. She unwrapped the sling completely, inspecting the healing bruise along his collarbone from the fall.
He didn't flinch. He never did.
"Still sore?"
"A little."
She nodded. "Bone's still healing. You'll need another two weeks minimum. No pressure. No weight."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," she snapped. "And every time you say that, I add another week."
He looked down at his lap, chastened.
Sayaka softened, just barely. Her voice lost its edge.
"You don't have to prove anything every second, Kojima. You broke your arm saving someone. That's enough."
"I didn't even do it well," he said. "I still messed it up."
Sayaka stilled. Then stepped back and crossed her arms.
"You know the kind of patients I hate the most?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"The ones who walk in with broken bones and act like they failed because they didn't come out clean. Like surviving wasn't already a win."
He didn't answer.
Sayaka removed her gloves and dropped them in the bin. Then she scribbled on his chart.
> Bone mending steadily. Psychological strain noted. Reassess in two weeks.
She looked over her shoulder. "Eat something today. And keep the sling on when you leave."
"I will."
"And if you don't…" she narrowed her eyes, "I will know."
He gave her a real smile that time. "Thanks, Nurse Nakamura."
As he stood to leave, she called after him—softly.
"Satoru."
He turned.
"You don't have to break every part of yourself to matter."
He hesitated. Then nodded once and slipped out the door.
---
Elsewhere…
Miyako stood in the back of the school library, hands gripping the strap of her bag. She'd overheard two classmates talking earlier.
"He's in the hospital again. I think he broke his arm this time."
"I don't get it. He doesn't even have a quirk."
"Why does he keep doing it?"
She didn't join the conversation.
She just stood there, heart fluttering quietly, thinking of flowers and bruised knuckles. And wondering why the thought of him not coming back this time… made her feel so sick.