My mother died two years ago.

The only person I truly cherished. A strong, stubborn single mother who raised me and Lizzy with more love than the world could afford.

Her death didn’t just hurt. It hollowed me out.

No more food only she could cook. No more warmth in her voice. No more arms to fall into when the world became too much. 

One day she was there, along with us. Nagging, laughing, breathing like any other person does. 

The next, she was a name carved into stone.

I remember standing in front of her grave, staring at the ashy-gray slab spelling out the coldest truth there was. Tears kept coming no matter how hard I tried to stop them.

I thought I’d feel only sorrow.

Instead, anger crawled in.

Anger sharp enough to turn into a grudge.

Against the family I couldn’t even call “family” anymore.

The very next day, Rina’s parents came over.

I told Rina I planned to take Lizzy to an orphanage. Not because I wanted to, but because I thought I had to. Mom left enough allowance behind, but Lizzy needed more than money. She needed care, she needed stability. Things I wasn’t confident I could provide alone.

Rina’s parents were furious.

They wanted us to move in with them. I refused. I didn’t want to be a burden.

We argued. A lot.

In the end, I stayed in our house. But Rina made me promise—no, forced me—to let her help. Since then, she’s been coming over almost every day. Cooking. Cleaning. Scolding. Turning my home into her second base of operations.

And me?

I somehow ended up with a second mother who had zero tolerance for my excuses.

Which is why sitting stiffly on the infirmary cot right now feels like facing a firing squad.

Rina stands in front of me, arms crossed. One slippered foot taps against the tile.

Slap. Slap.

The wall clock ticks mercilessly above us.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Even Val—my best friend, karate champ, fearless idiot—sits beside me like a criminal awaiting sentencing.

“Now,” Rina says calmly, too calmly, “care to explain something to me?”

I swallow.

“Uh… sorry?”

“I’ve heard that already,” she replies. “Why are you sorry?”

“…Because I was late again?”

“And why were you late again?”

“….”

Here’s the problem.

If I lie, she’ll see through it and murder me.

If I tell the truth, she’ll be furious, and murder me.

There’s no winning at all. 

“C-calm down, Rina,” Val blurts out, hands waving like a desperate referee. “Theo probably just slipped on the ice! See, his clothes are dirty, his hand’s bruised. Must’ve fallen trying to catch himself!”

Bless you, Val.

Rina turns slowly toward him.

“You think he’s stupid enough to fall like that?”

“W-well…” Val laughs weakly. “He is an idiot, right?”

…You’re dead later, Val. 

I sigh and slump forward. No way out of this but to be honest with her.

“Alright. Fine. I got into a fight. Again.”

Rina’s eyebrow twitches.

Val visibly shrinks.

“…Elaborate.”

“Yesterday, two guys tried to mug me at the convenience store. I dealt with them. This morning, they came back with friends. I dealt with them too.”

That’s it. No embellishment. No excuses.

Her face tightens. The redness creeping up her ears tells me everything. I brace myself.

“You hear that?” Val jumps in again. “Self-defense! Totally justified, right?”

Silence falls.

Rina stares at me. Not blinking. Not breathing, it seems. The ticking clock stretches every second into something painful.

Then she exhales.

“…Alright,” she says, rubbing her temple. “I won’t comment on that. For now.”

Relief floods my chest so fast it almost hurts. Even Val exhales loudly, pumping his fist under the bed. “Yes—!”

“However,” Rina adds sweetly, with a smile that doesn’t seemingly so sweet, “I will comment on someone trying to lie to me earlier.”

Crack.

I swear I hear Val’s soul leave his body.

…That’s on you, buddy.

The ten-minute break ends faster than it should. The bell rings, saving me... for now.

“Alright,” I clap once, breaking the tension. “I’ll stay here until lunch. You two head back.”

Val moves immediately, shoulders slumped.

“Take care, man.”

“No,” I reply. “You take care.”

He still had unfinished business with Rina. Good luck with that, bud.

Ever since we were kids, Rina’s been the mom of the group. Like that one time at the park, when we were in sixth fifth grade, if I remember correctly. Val tripped, split his knee open, and somehow she already had plasters in her bag. Slapped one on, then scolded us like we’d personally offended her bloodline. Especially whenever we did something stupid that almost got us killed.

Val and I were little brats back in the day. 

We survived anyway.

Mostly because Rina made sure we did.

Maybe that’s why, even now, despite Val being built like a tower of muscle and confidence, he still shuts up the moment Rina scolds him. Just look at him now. Shoulders drooping, head low, like he lost a fight without throwing a punch.

He left the infirmary without a word.

Rina stayed behind.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “still got business here?”

“I do.” She turned to me and held out her hand. “Let me see your arm.”

“This one?”

Yeah, I won the fight, but that big punk didn’t go down clean. My sleeve was shredded, skin singed from the zap. I’d almost blacked out when he shocked me repeatedly. Bouncing it back at him saved my ass, but my arm still paid the price.

“Let me see…”

Her fingers wrapped gently around my arm. Her eyes narrowed, then flared a bright, liquid green. Coolness seeped in instantly, like spring water flowing under my skin.

I’d seen it dozens of times, and it isn't any less impressive.

Twenty seconds later, the pain vanished. Burnt flesh crumbled away, flakes of dried skin falling off to reveal clean, healed skin underneath.

Rina exhaled and slumped onto the cot beside me.

Her Gift—⟨Stitch Sew⟩. Regeneration acceleration. One of the most versatile abilities I knew. Her abilities activated by eyesight, actually. She could heal from meters away if she wanted. The only reason she used touch was because she hated watching wounds regenerate in the open, and covered the wounds by her hands. Said it was too grotesque. I'd say that's fair enough.

“Here.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a wrapped tuna onigiri. My favorite. Conveniently, hers too. “I had a feeling you ran into trouble.”

I took it, failing to hide my grin.

“So… can I treat this as a Valentine’s gift?”

“Dream on, idiot.” She snapped back, but there was no bite to it. “Would you rather feel tired all day?”

“I’d rather eat this, thanks.”

That's the thing. Her Gift wasn’t healing, it was regeneration boost. Meaning it burned energy, and from both sides. Even now, she looked pale. She has her energy drained after healed me.

Normally, she shoved sugar into the patient’s mouth before using it. Guess she skipped that step this time.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go back to class once you’re fit.”

Her voice was sharp, but not angry.

Worried.

Rina had never been good at hiding it. The tight frown, the tremor she tried to suppress, the way her eyes widened when she first saw my arm.

I sometimes wondered if the only reason I could stay strong for Lizzy was because Rina was there, picking up the pieces I couldn’t.

“I’ll attend afternoon class,” I said, tearing open the wrapper.

“You better.”

She hopped down from the cot, and immediately staggered.

“Whoa—!”

“Careful!”

I caught her shoulders before she collapsed. She grabbed the metal frame of the bed, her foot knocking my bag over.

“If you feel sick, stay here,” I said.

“It’s just recoil,” she muttered, trying—and failing—to sound tough. Then she glanced at the bag. “Ah… sorry. Your bag fell.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Still, she crouched and picked it up, setting it neatly on the chair.

Something slid out.

“Ah, something fell.”

An envelope.

Wait. Did I pack that?

“What’s this?” Rina picked it up, reading aloud. “‘To Theodore Morgan A.’” Her lips curled. Then she giggled. “A love letter? On Valentine’s Day? Wow. And rosy red too. Going classic, huh?”

Rosy red?

My blood ran cold.

“WAIT, RINA—!”

“Eh?”

Her puzzled face sealed my fate.

Everyone in Shanan knew that crest on the wax seal.

When the hell did that redhead slip this into my bag?

“Is this from Roxley Academy?”

…Yeah.

This is the end.