"Thank you for your hard work, teacher."
Seven's voice was low.
The infirmary was quiet.
After the words fell, no other sound followed immediately. The air seemed to pause for a moment. The clock on the wall was still ticking, but the faint sound was absorbed by the thick walls, leaving only a nearly imperceptible vibration.
The female teacher's hand holding the cup paused.
The rim was still near her lips.
The water inside was gently swaying from her previous movement, small ripples spreading along the inner wall in slow circles.
She didn't drink right away.
A few seconds later, she slowly placed the cup back on the table.
The bottom of the cup touched the surface with a soft, clear sound.
In the silence of the infirmary, it stood out.
She looked up at Seven.
The light fell along the side of her face.
There were still fine beads of sweat on her forehead.
Not from intense exertion, but the kind left behind after long, focused treatment. The light reflected off them in tiny points.
Her breathing was still slightly heavy.
Her shoulders hadn't fully settled.
Her gaze stayed on Seven's face for a few seconds.
As if confirming something.
Then her expression eased slightly.
"Didn't expect the teacher to still be on duty."
Seven's earlier words seemed to linger in the air.
The female teacher shook her head slightly.
"The infirmary usually has someone on duty."
She lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear.
A natural motion.
The chair creaked softly.
An old wooden sound, the backrest producing a faint friction as it shifted.
Seven stood beside the desk.
His sunglasses were still on.
The lenses reflected the light into a small patch of white.
That reflection covered his eyes completely, making it impossible to see where he was looking.
The teacher watched him.
Her gaze stopped on the sunglasses.
For two seconds.
Then shifted to his sleeve.
There had been a trace of blood earlier.
Now it had dried.
Finally, her eyes returned to his face.
She asked,
"You're Seven from the seventh grade, right?"
There was a hint of confirmation in her tone.
Seven nodded once.
"Yes."
A simple answer.
No extra explanation.
The teacher seemed a little curious.
She leaned forward slightly.
Her fingers rested on her knee.
Her gaze didn't move.
"Why do you keep wearing sunglasses?"
She paused.
As if choosing her words.
Then added,
"They're not just for decoration, are they?"
Seven didn't answer immediately.
He stood still.
The light of the infirmary fell across his shoulders and collar, the folds of his uniform clearly defined.
A few seconds later—
His fingers lifted.
They touched the frame.
His fingertips rested against the metal edge.
Then he removed the sunglasses.
The arms slid away from his ears.
Slowly.
The light fell fully on his face.
His eyes were completely exposed.
No pupils.
Only a pale gray-white.
Like unfocused glass.
Light entered, but nothing reflected back.
It was an unsettling sight.
A normal eye reflects light.
Has a dark pupil.
A glint.
His had none.
Like two quiet gray stones.
The teacher froze for a moment.
Her breathing halted for half a second.
Her gaze tightened visibly.
Locked onto those eyes.
Then quickly shifted away.
As if realizing she had stared too long.
She lowered her head.
"Sorry. That was rude of me."
Her tone became cautious.
As if aware her question had crossed a line.
Seven put the sunglasses back on.
The arms settled behind his ears.
Still steady.
"It's fine."
His tone was natural.
"I get misunderstood a lot."
The infirmary fell quiet again.
The air settled.
The teacher nodded gently.
Her shoulders slowly relaxed.
Her gaze returned to the two beds.
Number 33 was still lying there.
Unmoving.
Breathing evenly.
Bandages wrapped around his shoulder and arm.
77 lay quietly on the other bed.
The wound on his forehead had already closed.
His breathing was calmer than before.
The teacher stood up.
She walked to 77's bedside.
Her steps were light.
Soft friction against the floor.
Her palm rested on his forehead again.
Checking temperature.
Then his breathing.
Her fingers moved to his neck.
Feeling the pulse.
She nodded.
Confirmed there was no issue.
Then she moved to Number 33.
Adjusted his arm.
The shoulder joint had already been reset.
The bandaging was neat.
Her movements were practiced.
No wasted motion.
A few minutes later—
She returned to her chair.
The legs scraped softly across the floor.
She leaned back.
Let out a breath.
Finally steady.
Seven stood by the desk.
Didn't leave.
The distance between them was small.
The light spread across the tabletop.
Metal instruments lay there.
Tweezers.
Scissors.
A box of gauze.
Used bandages.
The faint smell of disinfectant lingered.
The teacher glanced at Seven.
As if remembering something.
"Oh, right."
A slight smile.
"I haven't introduced myself yet."
She sat upright.
Her tone light again.
"My name is Elena Neroth."
Her voice was soft.
But clear.
Seven nodded once.
"Seven."
He gave his name.
Nothing more.
Silence lingered for a few seconds.
Elena watched him.
As if observing his reaction.
Seven didn't move.
She suddenly laughed softly.
"Seventh-grade students don't usually come to the infirmary."
"At least not bringing two people at once."
She glanced at 77 and Number 33.
A hint of teasing in her voice.
"And in this condition."
Seven's expression didn't change.
"They were practicing combat."
He said.
"No restraint."
Elena sighed lightly.
Shook her head.
"Students should be more careful."
Her gaze lingered on 77.
"This one is more seriously injured."
Seven didn't respond.
Just stood there.
A few seconds later—
He spoke.
Casually.
"Do you have a partner, teacher?"
The moment the question landed—
The air paused.
Elena blinked.
Surprised.
She looked at him.
As if checking whether she heard correctly.
Then couldn't help but laugh.
"That's a very direct question."
Her finger tapped lightly on the desk.
"Yes."
She answered calmly.
Seven raised his head slightly.
"Who?"
He asked.
Elena didn't answer immediately.
She picked up the cup.
Took another sip.
Then spoke.
A name.
And a title.
After hearing it—
Seven froze for a second.
His jaw dropped slightly.
As if his mind lagged behind.
"Seriously?"
He blurted out.
For the first time, his tone showed clear fluctuation.
"The Supervisor is your boyfriend?"
His voice wasn't loud.
But the shock was obvious.
Elena covered her mouth.
Laughed softly.
"Everyone who knows is surprised."
Her eyes curved.
Her voice softened.
"Joseph is a bit too upright."
"He does look very strict."
The atmosphere relaxed again.
At that moment—
77, lying on the bed—
Moved slightly.
His breathing changed.
A faint sound came from his throat.
As if trying to speak.
But unclear.
Seven's expression tightened instantly.
He turned.
Looked at the bed.
His gaze sharpened.
He reached into his pocket.
Metal clinked.
Four short blades were placed on the desk.
Their edges caught the light.
Cold.
"These were taken from Number 33."
Seven said.
"Please pass them to the Supervisor."
"For proper handling."
Elena's expression grew serious.
She looked at the blades.
Silent for a second.
Then nodded.
"Alright."
"I'll pass it along."
Seven nodded.
Then walked to the bed.
Lifted 77 onto his back.
77 wasn't fully conscious.
His weight pressed down.
Seven steadied himself.
Adjusted.
Then walked toward the door.
The infirmary door opened.
Light spilled out.
His footsteps faded.
—
The next day.
A notice appeared.
Number 33—transferred out.
No explanation.
Just a single line.
After that—
No more sudden injuries in the academy.
—
Noon.
Cafeteria.
Seven sat with Ros.
77 was there too.
They ate quietly.
Seven looked up.
"No one's bothering you anymore?"
77 shook his head.
"No."
Seven nodded.
"Good."
He lowered his head.
Continued eating.
A thought passed through his mind.
Elena handled it well.
No loose ends.
—
A few days later.
Training building corridor.
The Supervisor walked past.
Someone followed behind him.
Wearing a mask.
Same build as Number 33.
Seven stood at a distance.
Said nothing.
77 glanced over.
Muttered under his breath—
"Trying to act tough…"