Arakaki’s eyelids fluttered open, a dull ache pulsing through his head as he groaned softly.
The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and as he blinked against the harsh light, he realized he wasn’t in the arena anymore.
Memories of the match flooded back—each strike, each moment of despair as he and Komatsu had fallen to their opponents.
He winced at the recollection.
“Where am I?” he murmured to himself, his voice hoarse and shaky.
“You’re in the nurse’s room,” came a reply, startling him.
He turned his head slowly, finding a nurse nearby, her eyes kind but focused as she checked the equipment beside him.
“Did we lose?” he asked, dread creeping into his voice.
The nurse nodded gently. “Yes, but you’re safe now. You both took quite a beating, but you’re going to be okay.”
Just then, Komatsu stirred on the bed next to him, groaning softly as he blinked awake.
Arakaki shifted his attention, relief flooding over him to see his friend still there.