The infirmary slled like herbs and antiseptic.
The kind of place that reminded you that magic could heal wounds but couldn’t make the process any less uncomfortable.
I sat in a wooden chair beside Kyle’s bed, my arms crossed, watching him fidget under the bandages wrapped around his torso.
The healer—a stern-looking woman in her forties—had done her work efficiently.
nded the broken ribs, sealed the internal bleeding, stabilized everything that Marcus had broken. But she’d been clear: Kyle needed rest.
Kyle, naturally, was ignoring that advice in spirit if not in practice.
"So," he said, his voice slightly strained but trying for cheerful, "how bad does it look?"
"You’re wrapped up like a mummy," I said flatly.
"But like, a cool mummy, right?"
"No."
"Co on, man. I’ve got battle scars now!" He gestured vaguely at his torso. "Girls dig scars. That’s a thing, right?"
"You got your ass kicked and nearly died. That’s not attractive."
"It’s heroic."
"It’s stupid."
Kyle grinned anyway, though it faltered when the movent pulled at his ribs. He winced, sucking in a sharp breath.
I shook my head. "You went overboard."
"What?"
"Challenging Marcus wasn’t smart to begin with," I said, leaning back in the chair. "But not yielding? That was even worse."
Kyle’s expression shifted, less grin, more defensive. "I couldn’t just give up."
"You had your ribs broken and he was still hitting you."
"So?"
"So?" I stared at him. "Kyle, you could’ve been seriously hurt. Worse than this. What if the healer hadn’t gotten there in ti?"
He waved off, though the movent was weak. "But she did. So it’s fine."
He shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable, then gave up with a sigh. "Look, I know you think I’m an idiot—"
"You are an idiot."
"But I’m not gonna apologize for standing up for you." His voice was firm despite the pain. "Marcus was threatening you. Soone had to do sothing."
"Not like that."
"Then how?" Kyle looked at , his expression earnest. "What was I supposed to do? Just let him push you around?"
Yes. That’s exactly what you should’ve done.
Kyle yawned suddenly, his eyes drooping. "Man, I’m tired. That healer gave sothing, didn’t she?"
"Probably a sedative."
"Yeah. That tracks." He settled back into the pillow, his body relaxing. "Wake up if anything cool happens, okay?"
"Sure."
"Cool." His eyes closed, his breathing evening out almost imdiately.
Within seconds, he was asleep.
I sat there for a mont, watching him.
His face was peaceful now, no pain, no tension. Just... resting.
My hands clenched into fists on my lap.
For .
He took the challenge for .
The thought sat heavy in my chest, pressing down like a weight I couldn’t shift.
Agnes got fired for helping .
Kyle got hospitalized for defending .
Everyone who gets close to ends up worse off.
I stared at Kyle’s sleeping form, jaw tight.
What the hell am I doing?
Agnes had sacrificed her savings, her job, her security, all because I’d asked her for help. And where was she now? Thrown out of the manor with nothing. No references. No way to get another position.
Because of .
And now Kyle.
Kyle, who’d been nothing but kind since the mont we t. Who’d given clothes, paid for a room, dragged around campus like we’d been friends for years.
And what did he get for it?
Broken ribs. Internal bleeding. A beating that could’ve killed him.
Because of .
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
I’m poison.
Everyone who helps gets hurt.
Maybe I should just—!
No.
I stopped that thought before it could finish.
No. That’s not the answer.
Running away won’t fix anything. It’ll just leave them behind to deal with the ss.
I looked up at Kyle again.
He chose this. He knew what he was doing.
And he did it anyway.
Because he’s an idiot.
A good idiot.
My fists clenched tighter.
Marcus did this.
Not . Marcus.
And he’s going to answer for it.
I didn’t know how yet. Didn’t know when.
But Marcus Valen had just made a very specific kind of enemy.
The kind that didn’t forget.
I stood, the chair scraping softly against the stone floor.
Kyle didn’t stir.
I looked down at him one more ti, then turned and walked toward the door.
Rest, you idiot.
I’ll handle the rest.
-----
I pushed open the door to Room 47 and stepped inside.
Kyle’s bed sat unmade on the other side of the room. The window was open slightly, letting in cool evening air that did nothing to ease the tension coiled in my chest.
I closed the door behind and leaned against it for a mont, eyes closed, breathing slowly.
Okay. Think. What do I have to work with?
I opened my eyes and pulled up my status ntally.
[STATUS]
Na: Jin Raith
Age: 17
Class: Debugger
Level: 6
EXP: 0/850
Rank: F
MC (Mana Capacity): 11/50
HP: 205/245
MP: 67/67
STR: 14
VIT: 12
AGI: 12
INT: 47
WIS: 39
LUK: 16
I stared at the numbers.
And my hands clenched at my sides.
Pathetic.
The word echoed in my head, cold and bitter.
You couldn’t even protect him. You just sat there and watched while Marcus broke him.
I grabbed the nearest object—a wooden cup sitting on my desk—and hurled it at the wall.
It shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the floor with a sharp crack.
"Pathetic," I muttered aloud, my voice rough. "Absolutely fucking pathetic."
Agnes got fired because I was too weak to save myself from poison.
Kyle got hospitalized because I was too weak to deal with Marcus myself.
Everyone around suffers because I’m not strong enough to—
I stopped.
Took a breath.
No.
Anger isn’t going to solve anything.
I forced my hands to unclench, rolling my shoulders to release the tension.
Getting emotional won’t change the facts. Won’t make stronger. Won’t fix Kyle’s ribs or get Agnes her job back.
Focus. What can I actually do?
I walked to my bed and sat down, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
Marcus needs to pay for this.
That’s non-negotiable.
But how?
I pulled up the ntal image of my status again, focusing on the key numbers.
STR 14. Not enough to beat him in a straight fight.
AGI 12. Not fast enough to outmaneuver him.
Training will take ti. Months, maybe years, to close the gap.
I don’t have that kind of ti.
My eyes moved to the skills list.
Debug Vision. My only real advantage.
But...
I rubbed my temples, feeling the phantom ache of neural strain.
MC is 11/50. Every edit I make costs mana and processing power. The bigger the edit, the worse the strain.
And if I push too hard, I end up with nosebleeds, migraines, or worse.
I clicked my tongue in frustration.
But first, I need to be smarter about this and calr.
I shifted on the bed, crossing my legs and straightening my back.
Clear the mind. Focus.
I closed my eyes and began to breathe, slow, deliberate. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Just... center yourself. Let the anger drain away.
The sounds of the Academy filtered in through the open window. Distant voices.
I let it all wash over , not focusing on any one thing.
Breathe.
In. Out.
Don’t think about Marcus. Don’t think about Kyle. Don’t think about anything.
Just... breathe.
The tension in my shoulders began to ease, slowly, increntally.
I opened my eyes, staring at the far wall, stood, moving to the window and looking out at the darkening campus.
I will get to you Marcus,
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But soon.
Very soon.
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