The special care ward of the Marine Headquarters' medical center was wrapped inheavy and suffocating aura.
All noise from the outside world was sealed away, leaving only the cold, monotonous beeping of the life monitors, and a silence so deep it felt like death itself.
Renzo stood outside Ain's room.
The door wasn't fully closed, leaving a narrow crack.
Inside, there were no cries, no groans, only a quiet so hollow it seemed to drain the soul. It was a silence more suffocating than any scream.
That familiar "serene" presence that Ain carried was gone. In its place lingered a broken emptiness, sharp and blood-scented pain, so intense that even Renzo's usual indifference couldn't block it out. It pricked through his laziness like an icy needle, disturbing his carefully maintained "no hassle" state.
He finally pushed the door open.
The room was dim, heavy with the smell of medicine.
Ain lay on the bed, looking like a porcelain doll that had been shattered and barely pieced back together.
Her once proud, commanding form was wrapped in layer after layer of bandages. The bits of skin that showed were bruised and marred by unhealed wounds.
Her face was turned to the side. Sweat-dampened strands of dark blue hair clung to her pale forehead and cheek, her complexion ghostly white.
But what made Renzo stop in his tracks were her eyes.
Those sharp, calm eyes that always seemed to pierce through everything, now they were wide open, staring blankly at the white wall.
There was no light in them, no focus, only desolation, the kind that comes after total collapse.
Her tears had long dried. Only faint trails remained, and a still, suffocating despair.
Her fingertips dug unconsciously into the bedsheet, trembling faintly.
Renzo silently stepped closer, his shadow falling over her.
Ain didn't notice him. She was still trapped in that consuming darkness.
Her breathing was shallow and uneven, each inhale seemed to drain all her remaining strength.
He looked at her, at the bandages, the marks of violence and suffering, and felt the raw grief radiating from her like heat.
He remembered the quiet meals in the cafeteria, the companionable silences in the library, that cup of "by the way" hot milk… She had been a small but vital part of the calm corner of his world. And now, that quiet "coordinate" was falling apart before his eyes.
Something strange and unfamiliar stirred deep within him, in that heart dulled by years of laziness and avoidance.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't sadness.
It was… an icy agitation, born from seeing something precious to his quiet shattered so cruelly.
Just then, from the hallway came the sound of restrained commotion, hurried footsteps and urgent whispers from the medical staff.
"Admiral Zephyr has regained consciousness."
"…His right arm… completely beyond recovery…"
"…He's emotionally unstable…"
"…Absolute rest is required…"
The fragmented words crashed into the silence like a hammer, shattering Ain's last fragile thread of calm.
Her body jerked violently. Her empty eyes shrank, as if stabbed by an invisible blade.
And then it all came flooding back, the massacre, the terrified faces of her comrades, the splattering blood, her teacher's roar as his arm was cut off to protect them, the monster's hideous laughter.
Her dam finally broke.
A faint whimper escaped her, small, pitiful, like a wounded cub.
Then came the collapse.
She didn't scream. She just trembled, violently, as tears poured from her hollow eyes like a storm, soaking the pillow.
It was grief so deep that sound itself seemed to die in it.
She curled up, as if to hide from the world, only to twitch in pain as her wounds protested. She looked so fragile, so helpless.
Renzo froze.
He watched her fall apart, and that cold agitation inside him grew stronger.
Tears. Collapse. Raw emotion.
All of it was the kind of "trouble" he hated most.
But this time… he couldn't push it away. He couldn't just think, "So annoying."
Maybe Ain sensed him, that faint trace of the quiet he always carried.
Shaking uncontrollably, she reached out her uninjured arm toward the shadow standing beside her bed, weakly, instinctively.
Her hand clutched the wrinkled corner of his coat, gripping so tightly that her knuckles turned white, as if clinging to the last piece of driftwood in a storm.
Then, unable to hold herself up, she rested her forehead against his arm, her hot tears quickly soaking his sleeve.
The choked sobs finally came, broken and trembling, filled with unbearable pain, fear, and despair.
"...Everyone's gone… all of them… Teacher's arm… why… why…"
Her voice was hoarse, every word jagged like glass shards.
Renzo's body went rigid.
He could feel the pull on his coat, the warmth of her tears seeping through the fabric.
A woman's crying, her grief, the closeness, all the things he classified as "troublesome." Yet this time, he didn't recoil.
He looked down at her trembling head pressed against his arm, felt the burning heat of her tears, and listened to those broken sobs.
Something deep within his heart, the one buried under years of apathy, cracked open, just a sliver.
For the first time, something moved.
Not much, but enough, like the first faint breath of spring wind across a frozen wasteland.
He still hated trouble.
And the source of this trouble, this chaos that had broken the calm, was that man.
Edward Weevil.
Not maybe. Not possibly.
Definitely.
Slowly, almost stiffly, Renzo raised his other hand, as though it weighed a thousand pounds.
His movements were clumsy, mechanical, like a machine long rusted.
Then, that hand came to rest lightly, very lightly, on Ain's trembling back.
No gentle stroking. No comforting gesture.
Just his hand there, cold, awkward, but steady.
"...Stop crying."
His voice was dry and flat as usual, but a faint awkwardness, something almost human, lingered beneath it.
"...You're… being noisy. It's annoying."
The words were clumsy, utterly terrible as comfort, but the unmoving hand on her back, and the fact that he didn't push her away, spoke louder than his tone ever could.
Ain didn't stop crying, in fact, her sobs grew more intense, but there was something different now. The desperation in her grip eased, just a little.
Renzo stood there, motionless, letting her tears soak through his clothes, letting her trembling seep into him.
It was still a hassle.
A massive hassle.
But this time… he didn't look away.
The name, the source of the noise, of all this chaos, etched itself into his once-detached mind.
Edward Weevil.
Eliminate him.
Not for justice.
Not for revenge.
But simply to stop the noise.
To make the "trouble" disappear.
To restore the quiet.
For the first time, Renzo truly changed, not because he wanted to, but because someone else's pain had reached him.
......
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