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He remembers her face. She's in the arms of her former classmates now, the whole group of them crowding around her, their sobbing happy rather than despaired. It's what one would describe as a heartwarming reunion.
He remembers when her face hit the floor, face down in a pool of blood spilling from her wounds. He remembers the plastic hairclip falling from her bangs, clattering across the floor towards his feet. It was a statistical improbability that it'd bounce so far across the floor, but the small icon skidded to a halt mere inches from his shoes. Odd.
He bent down to pick it up, careful not to smear the flecks of blood across the 8-bit patterning. His vision blurred as he held it up to the dim light of the room, and alongside the eternal boredom he felt a flash of confusion, before a single drop of water dripped down his cheek. He was crying. This was new.
Interesting.
He was sure her breathing had ceased before he'd picked up the hairclip, but she gasped as he stared at her figure on the floor. Shallow and racing as it was, the girl was still breathing, just barely. This was another improbability; it was almost an impossibility that she'd survived this far. Clearly there was something special about this girl and her passion for her friends, something that was letting her defy all the odds. It was the kind of thing that defied logic, and that was fascinating. He felt something stir in his chest, and not in a physical sense.
He wanted to study the girl. To do that though, she had to survive. Choosing to sacrifice the pristine cleanliness of his uniform, he crouched back down to lift the girl, though not before slipping her hairclip into his breast pocket. He'd return it at a later date, should she survive long enough to recieve it. A promise, of sorts.
She was about as heavy as he'd anticipated, but her hair was softer, and he could tell her hair was tickling his cheek. He wasn't compelled to react. Still, he scooped the girl into his arms, carrying her as one would carry a bride. It wasn't as efficient as a fireman's lift, but it felt kinder. He didn't care for kindness, never having been shown it in his short life thus far, but something about this girl in particular, he felt it was a duty. How could one not treat her well, after all she'd just endured at the hands of evil?
He takes her to the infirmary. The nurse, the wretched one who reeks of depravity and who trails drooling after the despairs, never truly frequents this place. She would, were she not busy making a fool of herself elsewhere, but with her mind addled with despair she'd abandoned all sense of duty - not that she'd ever had much to begin with. There was a school nurse most days, but he made sure to slip in as the woman left for a smoke break. The girl in his arms was still holding on, and his chest felt warm watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest. He was careful, as was logical to be, as he eased her limp form onto the lone bed in the room. The paper wrap laid out turned to a bloodied mush almost instantly as pink spilled from her wounds. His hair was wet with the stuff, but it wasn't an urgent matter. What was urgent was slipping away, making sure to stay out of sight, and to clear up the tracks of blood that were scattered about the halls of Hope's Peak.
He stuck around. He scribbled out a note, and couldn't account for the shakiness of his writing. It was imperative the girl was kept a secret from her classmates now, they weren't safe. It was even more essential that her survival was kept from the despairs - they were far too caught up in their plans to notice what the school nurse was up to, so he'd leave the girl's safety up to her. Hope's Peak could work out the rest. He didn't owe her anything after all.
He pulled up her file on the computer, slipped a cannula into her arm and connected a bag of O, making sure it was dribbling along correctly before heading toward the window. Before leaving, he brushed the hair from her eyes, took a final look at her face. The blood that trickled over her eye had begun to crust and dry, and there were little splatters of pink dotted over her cheeks like freckles. She almost looked oddly peaceful.
He left to clean up the mess he'd made, keeping a hand over the bump in his pocket. He didn't expect to see her again; her survival had only been an improbability, and that much was clear.
He still has the hairclip - it's been in his own hair for quite some time now, hidden by the sheer volume of it. He demanded it of the Future Foundation when the boy he once was had let him speak, and it hasn't left him since. Maybe he's still been holding onto that promise, the one he made only to himself really, but seeing her face again, clear as day, her bangs not covering that nasty scar across her brow, he remembers the vow he made all those years ago. As her former classmates finally give her space, she glances in his direction, and her smile softens. He steps forward, reaches into his hair and carefully removes the pin, holding it like it's alien in his hands, like it was when he first acquired it. He reaches out, and she bows her head, giving her unspoken consent as he slips the clip into place. Once again, he can't explain why his hands shake - she's an anomaly, and this has surely proven it.
'Hi' says the girl, finally, 'Chiaki Nanami. It's a pleasure to finally meet the man who saved my life. Thank you, Izuru,'