Doctor Natasha was the one assigned to handle my checkup.
She had a calm presence about her. There was nothing overly comforting, but not cold either. The kind of person who had probably seen too many injured bodies and broken minds to be easily shaken, yet still carried herself with professionalism that didn’t feel hollow. She asked to sit down, then leaned closer, gently lifting my chin as she examined my eyes. Her fingers were steady, practiced, and impersonal.
"Look left. Now right," she said.
I followed her instructions as she peered into my eyes, her gaze sharp and observant. After that, she moved on to so light physical tests, starting by checking my reflexes, my balance, and my response ti. Nothing too invasive, just enough to see if anything was off.
Once she was done with that, her questions shifted.
She started asking whether I had been seeing flashes of mories, like images, sounds, or sensations from what happened back in the village. Whether certain slls or noises triggered anything. Whether I ever felt like I was back there, even for a brief mont.
She didn’t say the term out loud, but it was obvious what she was checking for.
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
The word probably didn’t exist in this world, or at least not in the way it did where I ca from. Instead, they danced around it, describing the symptoms rather than naming it. And honestly, considering how often people in this world dealt with death, war, monsters, and massacres, questions like these were probably routine. Almost mundane, in a grim sort of way.
After listening to my answers and watching my reactions carefully, Doctor Natasha finally leaned back slightly.
"Well," she said, folding her hands together, "you appear to be psychologically stable. I don’t believe the incident has tornted your mind or left any lingering psychological damage. There doesn’t seem to be any lasting ntal effect."
She paused, then added, her tone softening just a little, "That’s fortunate. Very fortunate, in fact. Still, I hope you’re not hiding anything in your heart. If you are lying to —even to yourself—it will beco a problem later on."
I gave her a small smile. Not forced, not exaggerated. Just honest.
"Don’t worry," I said. "I’m not lying. I’m really just telling you what’s going on inside ."
She studied my face for a mont, as if weighing my words.
"I see... If that truly is the case, then you’re fine for now," she said. "However, if you begin to feel anything unusual—like nightmares, sudden fear, emotional instability—I strongly advise you to return imdiately. I’ll help you work through it."
"Alright," I replied. "Thank you."
With that, the checkup was over.
I stepped out of the tent, the fabric shifting behind as I exited. The air outside felt slightly different. It was lighter, sohow. Maybe that was just in my head.
Doctor Natasha had been surprisingly nice. Beyond the checkup itself, she’d taken the ti to give advice related to my training. She pointed out small inefficiencies in my movents, warned about wasting energy on unnecessary actions, and suggested routines that would help build endurance without burning myself out.
She wasn’t just checking if I was broken. She was making sure I wouldn’t break myself later.
Ayaka, anwhile, had gone in for her own checkup—and hers took significantly longer.
I waited outside, leaning against a nearby post, occasionally glancing toward the tent. When she finally ca out, her expression was more subdued than usual.
"Apparently, I’m experiencing PTSD," she said bluntly. "So the doctor wants to co in for weekly checkups. , and a lot of others who are dealing with the sa thing."
I wasn’t surprised.
She had seen things—too many things. Dead bodies, people dying right in front of her, the aftermath of violence that left no room for ignorance. anwhile, I had been trapped in thick smoke, my vision obscured, and my awareness limited. I was kidnapped soon after, removed from the worst of the aftermath before I could fully process it.
Compared to her, I had been spared the most brutal sights.
"How about you?" she asked, glancing at .
"I think I’m fine," I said. "I can manage. But if sothing does co up—sothing that counts as PTSD—I’ll co back."
"I see," she said quietly. "That’s good. Especially since you’re the one who suffered the most."
She took a breath, then shifted topics.
"Oh, by the way, I’m heading back to the library. The doctor told to rest for today, so I’ll just stay there. What about you?"
"I think I’ll rest too," I replied.
Even as I said it, a part of still felt that familiar itch—the desire to dig deeper into Princess Myrcella’s lover, to chase answers that might not even matter anymore. But I knew myself well enough to recognize when curiosity was starting to rot into obsession.
If I kept going, it would just turn unhealthy again.
So I stopped.
I forced myself to let it go.
***
Titania’s POV
I was sprawled out on my bed in the dorm, my phone pressed against my ear as I kicked my feet up and down in a lazy rhythm. My mood was light, almost carefree, as I talked to Leon.
"And then, and then," I said, barely stopping to breathe, "when we were eating last night in the Entertainnt District, Yr sohow got lost. Like—just completely disappeared."
I laughed softly to myself.
"So we had to go looking for her, right? And when we finally found her, she was asleep on one of the benches. Just out cold. It was honestly kind of cute. And really funny."
I kept talking, filling Leon in on everything I’d experienced, every little mont that had stuck with . I was mid-sentence when there was a sudden knock on the door.
"Oh—wait a second, Leon," I said. "Soone’s knocking."
I pulled myself off the bed and walked over, opening the door without much thought.
The mont I saw who was standing there, my body stiffened.
"Huh? Why are you here?" I asked.
For a brief mont, my mind went blank.
"Princess Titania," he said, bowing slightly, "it’s good to see you again."
It was one of my knights—the one who had originally been assigned to protect . I had personally asked him to return to Bethlan because I was convinced that I didn’t need a guard following around anymore.
"It’s ti for you to return ho," he said.
"Huh?" I blinked. "What do you an?"
"The King has ordered that you return to Bethlan imdiately," he said, his tone serious. "The situation in Milham has grown extrely concerning, and your father is deeply worried."
Confusion washed over .
Nothing I’d heard suggested that sothing was wrong in Milham. It felt like this had co out of nowhere.
At that mont, I still had no idea what was happening. I hadn’t been told anything. I was completely in the dark.
But I would soon learn the truth.
The King had been assassinated.
He had died.
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