The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. Curtains swayed faintly from the air vents, the scent of sterile disinfectant mixing faintly with something softer—lotus, clinging stubbornly to the woman sitting in the chair beside the bed.

Rin had been there for hours, legs crossed, back straight, her eyes locked on the figure lying unconscious. Her gloves creased faintly where her fingers tapped in steady rhythm, the only sign of impatience. A half-empty cup of sickly sweet coffee sat on the side table, untouched for too long.

When finally stirred, shifting beneath the sheets, Rin's gaze sharpened instantly. Her shoulders stiffened, her lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile, wasn't quite relief.

Slowly, their eyes opened.

Rin leaned forward, her voice cutting through the silence, low and edged. "...Oh, look who finally decided to wake."

Her tone carried no warmth—just cold amusement, as if she had been waiting not out of care, but out of obligation. She flexed her fingers once, then brought one gloved hand to her lips, dragging her tongue slowly across the tip. A glint of wetness caught the room's dim light.

She rose from the chair, looming over the bedside, and pressed her slick fingertip against their lips. Her other hand caught their chin in a firm grip, forcing their mouth open just enough.

"Don't waste my time," she murmured, her voice soft but merciless. The command lingered between them, heavier than the antiseptic air. Whether as the ruthless hero, Rin's presence filled the room with the same suffocating truth—this wasn't protection. This was control.