The world tilted sideways.
Satoru clutched the edge of his desk, head bowed low, jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. Pain bloomed behind his left eye—pulsing, stabbing, like something was drilling into his skull from the inside.
The teacher's voice became distant, then garbled, like it was underwater.
He didn't remember standing. Only the feeling of the floor falling away beneath his feet.
The classroom gasped.
Someone shouted his name.
Then everything went dark.
---
He came to in the nurse's office, light searing through the curtains.
Keiko's voice was the first thing he heard—sharper than any IV needle.
"You passed out? At school?!"
Satoru winced. "Don't yell. Everything's ringing."
Keiko stood over him, still in her patrol uniform, hair messier than usual. Her eyes were red. Whether from panic or fury, he couldn't tell.
"You're lucky the school called me before they decided to call the damn agency," she said, pacing. "What the hell, Satoru? You've been running yourself into the ground. I knew it, I knew this would happen—"
"I'm fine," he croaked, sitting up slowly. "It's just a migraine."
Keiko stopped. Turned to face him fully.
"This isn't fine," she said, voice low now. "You're not sleeping. You're barely eating. You forgot to show up for Mom's test results last week."
That last part hit like a punch to the gut.
"…I didn't mean to," he whispered.
"You think I don't know that?"
Silence.
Then she sat down beside his cot, leaned forward, and dropped her voice to a tired murmur.
"I've been trying to be strong for both of us. For her. For you. But, Satoru…"
She looked up at him—something raw and scared behind her eyes.
"You're scaring me."
Satoru looked away, ashamed. "I can't stop. If I stop—"
"You're not alone, Satoru!" she snapped. "Stop pretending like it's all on you!"
He stiffened.
"You don't have to carry everything just because you're scared no one else will."
She reached out and grabbed his hand. Squeezed it tight.
"We're still here," she whispered. "I'm still here."
His chest hurt in a different way now—something warmer, messier, and harder to fight.
"…Sorry," he muttered.
Keiko laughed—just once, bitter and broken. "You idiot."
Then she ruffled his hair and leaned back in the chair.
"I'm staying until the nurse clears you."
He grumbled something, but didn't argue.
Outside, the late afternoon sun poured across the quiet nurse's office like gold.