The logic, though blunt, was undeniably Yixing. Seeing the genuine, serious concern behind his words—not pride or entitlement, but just a pragmatic commitment—Jisoo subsided.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to scream that her life was not a damaged investment that required a strategic intervention from the CEO level, like him. But the crushing truth was that she was exhausted, paralyzed, and his plan—delivered with untiring conviction—was better than any exhausted, half-formed thought she could manage.

"Fine," she muttered, defeated, sinking back into the cushions. "Just make sure it's good coffee."

Yixing gave a curt nod. "It will be. Text me if you need anything, Sehun."

Yixing then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Sehun waited until the sound of the door closing before spinning around. He leaned against the counter, a slow, ridiculously smug grin spreading across his face, and raised a single, meaningful eyebrow at Jisoo. He opened his mouth, as if ready to launch into a full 30-minute thesis on Yixing's 'mating rituals,' but then seemed to reconsider, shaking his head slightly.

"What?" Jisoo snapped, catching his look and shifting her foot uncomfortably as her ankle started to throb again.

"Nope," he muttered, still grinning. "Too soon for the interrogation. But first, let’s get you sorted out." He straightened up. "Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up."

Jisoo allowed Sehun to help her with the arduous task of showering and getting into bed. With the walking boot secured and her ankle stabilized, she finally lay down to rest.

Sehun lingered by the bed, setting up a side table with water and snacks. He looked at Jisoo, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

"Okay," Sehun started, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Let's talk about the giant elephant that just left. From my perspective, I went from knowing you have some meals to having Zhang Yixing carry you home like a distressed bride. Are you guys dating? And don't you dare give me some half-baked academic excuse."

Jisoo could still feel the phantom weight of his arms. She remembered protesting right outside the car, arguing she could hop, but Yixing hadn't even looked at her, simply ordering the driver to grab the crutches and her belongings while he scooped her up. He hadn't let her take a single step. The thorough, final physicality of that—being carried like a helpless package—made her feel an intense, retrospective awkwardness. Too much, too close, too fast. She desperately needed to shut down the feeling.

To escape the memory, Jisoo immediately seized on Sehun's ridiculous observation, using his teasing as a necessary distraction from her own panic.

She rolled her eyes, but a tired smile touched her lips. This was familiar territory, and it was comforting. "We are absolutely not dating, you idiot. But yes, it’s a long story."

She summarized the past 24 hours quickly. "Basically, I ran into him during a gig last night—yes, the usual one, keep your voice down. We ended up having a long dinner with entirely too much hard stuff, and I talked too much. We were both reasonably intoxicated, so his driver took us home. Then he brought your car back this morning."

Sehun’s eyebrows climbed higher with each detail. "He brought the car back? Already a massive escalation, but go on."

"And then," Jisoo sighed, rubbing her eyes. "He asked for my help. An emergency personal favor: buying a gift for his mother. I played the professional 'aesthetic consultant'. We went to the mall, the crowd went crazy, and voilà," she finished, lifting her injured leg dramatically. "My ligament decided to quit. So no, not dating. Just a spectacular display of cause and effect, where he now feels intensely responsible."

Sehun stared at her for a long beat, his expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "So, you accidentally became his wounded stray pet now?"

"Essentially, yes," Jisoo confirmed dryly, then she shrugged. "He might have thought that he now feels morally obligated to care for me after all that happened. Or maybe it's his way of paying off the 'debt' for the gift I helped him pick out."

Sehun burst into laughter, then his expression immediately sharpened, leaning in slightly. "Stop with the 'obligation' theory. Seriously, a guy doesn't spend four hours in the ER, carry you into your house like a baby, and then promise to cook breakfast just because he has a morale. That's not duty; that's a motive."

"He called you 'my problem,'" Sehun continued, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "That phrase is code. No man is this efficiently domestic unless he's interested. That guy is clearly into you."

Jisoo immediately scoffed, pushing the pillow higher behind her back. For a flicker of a second, Sehun's theory hit too close to home. Into me? That's ridiculous. They had met barely four times, and most of their interactions consisted of her being sarcastic or directly challenging his assumptions. She was more witty than charming around him; certainly not attractive enough to warrant this level of devotion from a man like Zhang Yixing.

"Oh, please. What fairy tale are you reading?" Jisoo dismissed the thought with a sudden snap of irritation. "Yixing is not 'into' me. He's just... responsible."

"Responsible? He’s a busy businessman, not a Boy Scout," Sehun countered.

"No, you don't understand the Yixing dynamic," Jisoo insisted, shaking her head. "He views me through Kim Minseok. I am Minseok's sister. He has a moral debt—or whatever you want to call it—to his old friend. He feels responsible for anything that happens to me when I'm under his 'care.' The fact that my heel broke under his watch just amplified that sense of duty."

Sehun watched her, a skeptical smirk playing on his lips. "So you're saying his crush is purely philanthropic?"

"I'm saying his sense of duty is not open for discussion, just like his breakfast delivery," Jisoo shot back, her voice firm. "Don't overthink it. Now stop trying to turn a ligament tear into a romantic comedy."

Sehun stared at her for a beat, his skeptical smirk turning into genuine amusement. "That is the most Jisoo-and-Yixing disaster scenario I could have possibly imagined." He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Whatever. But I'm filing a report with Minseok, just in case your permanent-resident nursemaid tries anything funny tomorrow."

Jisoo sighed, a tired but affectionate smile on her face. "Go ahead. Just make sure the paperwork is efficient."

He then sighed, his teasing tone softening into care. "Well, I guess my duties as the 'designated caretaker' start now."

"Good," Jisoo said, closing her eyes. "Now, designated caretaker, how about turning the lights off and letting the patient sleep?"

Sehun chuckled, switching off the main light and leaving the soft glow of the nightlight on the side table. "Rest well, Jisoo. Shout if you need anything. I mean it."

Jisoo mumbled a response, already half-asleep. The combination of medication, exhaustion, and the immense emotional release had finally claimed her. In the quiet sanctuary of her room, with her best friend nearby, the tension of the day—the crowds, the pain, and the surprising proximity to Yixing—finally melted away into deep, necessary sleep.

Meanwhile, Yixing’s car glided through the late-night traffic back towards his own district. The passenger seat, usually pristine and empty, held the sleek box containing the pearl set and the forlorn black high heel he forgot to bring back.

Yixing ran a hand tiredly over his face. He had canceled his evening meeting, postponed an early morning video conference with the European office, and spent the last six hours sitting in a hospital room. His actions today had been completely impulsive and reactive—a clear contrast to his usual measured routine.

He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the great panic he felt when he saw Jisoo hit the floor, or the unexpected comfort of carrying her. He still felt the ghost weight of her body against his chest, her panicked breathing against his neck. An overpowering, jarring sense of impropriety settled over him, knowing that he had completely violated every social boundary in a single afternoon. He knew he acted solely on instinct, but now, in retrospect, the intense intimacy felt like a colossal, unforgivable misstep in social etiquette. A heavy, methodical sense of guilt settled over him; even if the extreme closeness was necessary to prevent further injury, the infringement on her guarded space felt absolutely wrong.

"My problem," he repeated the phrase he had used earlier, the slight frown deepening on his face. He knew the words were pragmatic, designed to shut down any argument from either Jisoo or Sehun. But they were also absolutely true. The accidental injury, catalyzed by his presence and his request for help, had irrevocably shifted their dynamic. Jisoo was no longer just Minseok's sister; she was now a direct, immediate, and high-priority element in his life—a project that required his full, undivided attention.

He was committed now. Six weeks of healing meant six weeks of logistics, appointments, and dependency. Far from feeling burdened, a quiet, almost methodical determination settled over him.

Arriving at his silent, expensive penthouse, Yixing didn't immediately go to his home office. Instead, he went straight to his kitchen. He needed a clear head for tomorrow's mission.

Yixing opened his refrigerator. He wasn't indeed a professional chef, but he might claim himself as a competent cook; protein bars were certainly not on the menu.

He quickly planned a menu: simple, highly nutritious, and easy to eat. He checked the time: 11:45 PM.

Mission objective: Breakfast.

Yixing sighed, a flicker of amusement warming the serious concern in his eyes. He had negotiated multi-million dollar deals with less preparation. But managing this new, high-priority project—Jisoo's caloric intake—required maximum focus. He set an alarm for 5:00 AM, his mind already calculating the quickest and most efficient route back to Jisoo's apartment, determined that his breakfast delivery would be as impeccable as the pearl set he had purchased today.