...11/09/2009 Friday; Dawn...
The cold of the early morning seeped through the windows, and the air smelled of dried blood and sweat-soaked clothing.
On the ground floor of the dormitory, silence ruled the space, broken only by dragging footsteps.
Akihiko and Shinjiro were coming down the stairs with two comforters in their arms, their clothes still torn and dirty from battle.
On the couch, Mitsuru lay motionless — covered only by the shredded remains of Hiro's coat, stained with blood and ash.
In front of the window, his face pale and eyes staring at nothing, Hiro was holding Mitsuru's phone, still on a call.
The faint glow from the screen lit up part of his face, revealing the exhaustion in his eyes and the dried blood clinging to his eyebrows.
"Hiro?" Akihiko called out, curious. "Did you manage to get in touch with the Kirijo Group?"
Hiro raised a hand, asking for silence, and then gave a thumbs-up to confirm.
Shinjiro knelt in front of the couch, gazing at Mitsuru's pale face. Her lips were slightly parted, and each breath left a faint wisp of vapor in the air.
Carefully, he opened one of the comforters and tucked it around her, securing the edges to trap the heat.
Hiro ended the call, the soft click of the phone sounding too final for the moment. He turned around, his face drained, the weight of the battle still heavy on his shoulders.
He walked over to the coffee table and set the phone down as if returning something too fragile to keep holding.
"They're coming to pick her up," he murmured. "I let them know about our situation too."
Shinjiro looked up at him. "Are they sending someone to check on us?"
Hiro gave a small nod, his eyes drifting back to Mitsuru. "It's the least they can do... after we faced that whole horde..."
Akihiko crouched beside the couch and threw the second comforter over Mitsuru, adjusting the blankets to cover her better. "You're right. But I still don't get how Tartarus managed to release a horde like that. I've never seen anything like it."
Hiro turned his face, his brow furrowed as he looked at Akihiko. "Me neither. That giant Shadow... it wasn't normal. Takaya and the other guy... the one with the glasses... they were waiting for us to kill it so they could take something."
"Seriously?" Akihiko crossed his arms. "To take what?"
Hiro narrowed his eyes, his brow tightening.
The images came back in hazy flashes — the purple mist fading, Takaya with that twisted smile, something in his hand, maybe a weapon... or an Evoker? None of it made sense.
"I don't know." He ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "It's like my head... doesn't want to remember."
Akihiko let out a breath and gave a tired half-laugh. "Well, considering the shape you're in, I can't say I'm surprised."
Hiro shot him a sideways look, not even trying to hide his annoyance.
"Uh-huh... Like I'm the only one here who's falling apart," Hiro said, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm.
Hiro took a deep breath, and the sharp pain in his left shoulder made him shut his eyes.
Without the coat, the extent of the damage became clear.
His shirt was soaked in blood on the left side, staining both the front and back.
Torn fabric revealed scratches, cuts, and bruises scattered across his body.
Soot and dust still clung to his skin, as if every inch of him carried a fragment of the battle.
"Shit..." he muttered, lowering his head, exhausted. "I just want to sleep..."
"Same here," Akihiko replied, stretching with a heavy sigh. "But we have to wait for the Kirijo team to arrive."
Hiro nodded in silence, his eyes drifting back to Mitsuru.
She remained motionless on the couch, wrapped in two comforters, her breathing slow and faint.
But the uncomfortable weight pressing on Hiro's chest didn't come from her.
It came from inside him.
Something gnawed at him — a knot made of guilt, anger, and fear.
The image of Fuuka on the floor after being attacked by Noir returned with force. He shut his eyes, turning away from Mitsuru.
"I... I'll go check on Fuuka," he said, turning away. His voice came out muffled, as if trying to hide something. "Will you stay with Mitsuru?"
"Yeah, we've got her," Shinjiro answered promptly.
But Hiro didn't seem to hear. He was already walking toward the stairs.
Suddenly, his steps stopped. Someone was coming down.
In the dim stairwell, Aigis appeared, supporting someone — a shorter figure, with short hair and a drained expression.
Fuuka.
Her leg was still trembling, and her tired eyes sought balance with every step.
But she was there.
When she saw Hiro, she froze mid-stairway. Her eyes widened.
"Oh my God... Hiro..."
Hiro stood still, gaze unfocused. His body seemed to resist, but his heart had already decided.
Without a word, he started moving. Then ran.
Aigis gently let go of Fuuka and stepped aside. Fuuka moved forward awkwardly, unsteady.
And then they met in the middle of the room.
Hiro opened his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace, as if afraid of losing her again.
Fuuka was surprised, her hands trapped between their bodies, her face slightly flushed. But she didn't push him away.
"Thank God... you're awake..." Hiro whispered, his voice thick with relief.
His hands were shaking. And even without knowing everything that had happened, Fuuka rested her forehead on his injured shoulder, closing her eyes.
With her face pressed against Hiro's chest, Fuuka could feel every irregular heartbeat — and more than that, she felt that he was trembling.
Not from cold. From fear.
Fear of losing someone. Fear of what he might have done when he used his Theurgy.
"I'm sorry..." her voice came out low, almost a muffled whisper against his bloodstained shirt. "But I had to help you guys against that Shadow..."
Hiro tightened the hug, one hand gently reaching her hair, his fingers moving softly.
"I know..." he murmured, his voice tired. "But you really worried us, Fuuka."
He lifted his gaze and saw Aigis silently approaching. Her eyes were fixed on him — not with judgment, but with a serene, analytical calm.
"If not for Fuuka-san's Theurgy," Aigis said in her composed tone, "the Shadow wouldn't have weakened enough for Kirijo-senpai to freeze it. Also, her Theurgy healed most of our injuries."
Hiro said nothing. He just looked at Fuuka, clearly smaller and more fragile — and yet, she had carried all that weight for them.
With a sigh, he loosened the embrace enough to look at her. He raised a finger between their faces, his gaze serious and filled with concern.
"Promise me something..." he said firmly. "Never risk yourself like that again. Even if we're fighting Shadows..."
Fuuka smiled with that calm and gentle expression she always wore.
"I know, Hiro... But our role is to fight the Shadows... even if it risks our lives."
Hiro forced a smile and looked away.
"But you know how to fight..."
"That doesn't mean I should just stand by," she replied, firm, cupping Hiro's face with her small, warm hands. "I want to help however I can."
Hiro blinked, surprised. There was maturity in her words — more than he expected in that moment.
He took a deep breath and let his hand rest on her head again, stroking her hair gently.
"Alright..." he finally said with a relieved smile. "But promise me."
"I promise," she replied, nodding.
Hiro closed his eyes for a moment and lowered his head, pressing his lips gently to the top of Fuuka's head.
She opened her eyes wide, blushing instantly — she hadn't expected that.
But she smiled soon after, her face buried in his chest, feeling safe — and feeling that, despite everything, Hiro was still Hiro.