She jumped, startled by my voice, her thighs tensing beneath my head. "Satori-kun! You're awake! I-I was just trying to ease the pain." Her voice was high and flustered, fingers trembling slightly above my chest.

The healing light flickered with her surprise. "My [Aura of Respite] can't fix broken bones or internal bruising, but it can... soothe the nerve signals. Make it hurt less." Her words tumbled out in a nervous rush, her cheeks flushing a charming pink that crept down her neck.

"I'm not as good as the real doctors, but Professor Carmen said it would help until we get to the infirmary."

I finally sat up, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through my ribs. The movement sent black spots dancing across my vision, and I had to brace myself against the seat to keep from falling.

We were in the back of a golf cart, trundling down a paved path that wound between immaculate academy lawns and ornamental cherry trees. The cart jolted over a small bump, sending a fresh wave of agony through my torso.

Carmen was at the wheel, one hand steering, the other holding a metallic flask that gleamed in the dull light. She wore sunglasses despite the overcast sky, her black hair gathered in a messy ponytail that spilled over one shoulder.

Her eyepatch was slightly askew, revealing the edge of a jagged scar that disappeared beneath the black fabric.

"Oh good, Sleeping Beauty's awake," Carmen said without looking back, her voice raspy and irritated, like she'd spent the night before drinking or screaming—possibly both. "Can you tell him to stop bleeding on my upholstery?"

She took a swig from her flask and made a sharp turn that sent me sliding against Emi, who steadied me with surprisingly strong hands.

I glanced down and noticed small spots of blood on my uniform, likely from when my nose had connected with Braxton's elbow.

My once-pristine white shirt now looked like a Jackson Pollock painting, with splashes of red and smears of dirt creating a tragic masterpiece.

"Sorry about that. I'll send you my dry cleaning bill too." I tried to smirk, but my split lip made it more of a grimace.

"You do that, freshman. I'll file it right next to my last three credit card payments." She hit the accelerator, sending the cart lurching forward.

I looked from Carmen's grumpy face to Emi's worried one. Her blue eyebrows were knitted together, and she kept her hands close to my chest, the healing aura surrounding me like a cocoon of gentle relief.

"Where are we going?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.

"The infirmary," Emi replied, her hands still glowing faintly as she maintained her healing aura. The effort clearly cost her; beads of sweat had formed on her forehead, and her breathing was slightly labored.

"Professor Miller said you needed to see the doctor. He sounded really concerned after you... well, after you went limp." She bit her lower lip. "I've never seen a spar end like that before."

My mind flashed back to the end of the spar. Braxton's face, suddenly alive with interest. His voice on the phone. 'I need you to take one of the puppies to see Dr. Death.' A chill that had nothing to do with my injuries ran down my spine, cutting through even Emi's soothing warmth.

"Emi," I asked, my voice suddenly serious, dropping the pretense of casual indifference, "this doctor... is there a reason he's called 'Dr. Death'?"

Emi's face went pale, the color draining from her cheeks like water down a drain. She looked away, unable to meet my eyes, suddenly finding the landscape intensely interesting. Her healing aura faltered momentarily before she regained her focus.

Carmen chuckled darkly, the sound lacking any real humor. "Oh, don't scare him, Blue. It's just a cute nickname." She took another, longer pull from her flask. "Like calling a bald guy 'Curly' or a giant 'Tiny.'" Her visible eye gleamed with mischievous malice. "Totally innocent."

The golf cart turned a corner, revealing a stark, windowless medical building that looked more like a morgue than an infirmary.

The brutalist concrete structure stood apart from the rest of the academy's elegant architecture, an eyesore that seemed deliberately designed to instill dread.

A red cross adorned the entrance, but something about its proportions seemed slightly off, almost sinister.

"She's not going to kill you," Carmen said, taking a swig from her flask. "Probably. Though she might want to experiment on you after that stunt you pulled with Miller."

She brought the cart to a screeching halt mere inches from the building's entrance. "Most students don't get him to actually try. You should be proud."

"She?" I asked, my sense of foreboding growing stronger by the second.

"Dr. Sandoval," Emi explained, her voice small and hesitant. She helped me out of the cart, supporting my weight as I staggered to my feet. "She's the academy physician. She's brilliant, but..."

"But what?" I pressed, leaning more heavily on Emi than I strictly needed to. Her closeness was both tactically advantageous and, admittedly, comforting.

"But boundaries aren't exactly her strong suit," Carmen finished, bringing the golf cart to a lurching halt. She killed the engine and hopped out with surprising grace for someone who smelled like she'd bathed in whiskey. "Medical, ethical, or personal. Trust me, kid, I've been on her table more times than I can count. Just don't sign anything without reading it first." She tapped her eyepatch meaningfully. "And definitely don't ask how I lost this. The stories vary depending on her mood."

The infirmary door slid open automatically as we approached, releasing a waft of sterile air that carried subtle undertones of antiseptic, metal, and something else—something alien and vaguely sweet.

The interior was surprisingly bright and modern, with white tile floors and gleaming steel surfaces that reflected the harsh fluorescent lighting. The walls were lined with medical charts, anatomical diagrams, and what appeared to be experimental research papers.

Some featured creatures I didn't recognize, their bizarre anatomies annotated with detailed notes in a cramped, manic handwriting.

A series of examination beds lined one wall, separated by privacy curtains. Various machines—some recognizable as medical equipment, others looking more like something from a science fiction film—beeped and hummed in the background, creating an unsettling symphony of technological noise.

"Hello?" Carmen called out, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Tess? Got a fresh one for you. First-year managed to piss off Miller on day one. New record." She wandered deeper into the infirmary, seemingly at home in the clinical environment.

"He's still breathing, which is more than I expected."

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