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The interrogation room door burst open hard enough to rattle against the wall. Then Es stumbled out. Their footing caught awkwardly against the threshold, one hand slamming into the wall to keep upright before they nearly collapsed entirely. Their breathing came in short, sharp gasps that echoed down the corridor louder than the alarm still ringing faintly from inside the room. Their hat was gone, so was the carefully composed image that usually came with it.
Their cape trailed behind them from the doorway, half twisted beneath the interrogation room door like it had been yanked free in a hurry. One side had folded in on itself, dark fabric dragging limply across the floor. Es didn’t stop for it. A button near their collar strained by a few loose threads, nearly torn away completely. Their hair had fallen messily into their face, and they kept glancing back toward the room with the wide, unfocused look of someone still trapped in the moment they’d escaped from.
Inside the room, something hit the table hard enough to shake glass. Several doors farther down the hall slid open almost simultaneously. “What the hell—?”
Kazui stepped into the corridor just as Es lurched around the corner. They collided with him full force, and made a strangled sound, not quite a shout, and jerked backward instantly, struggling against his grip before he’d even fully caught their shoulders. “Hey—” Kazui froze.
Es looked terrified. Their eyes darted toward the interrogation room, pupils blown wide enough to swallow their irises entirely. Another crash sounded from inside. Then Mikoto stepped into the doorway, and Es recoiled so violently they nearly lost their footing again.
Kazui felt it immediately, the sudden panic in the way Es shoved against him, trying to get away, the instinctive desperation behind it. “Oh,” he said softly. Mikoto took another step forward, and Es bolted. They tore themselves out of Kazui’s grasp and stumbled farther down the corridor with an uneven gait, one hand pressed briefly against their ribs before catching themself on the wall again.
“Es—!” Yuno caught them before they hit the floor entirely.
By then, the hallway had erupted into motion. Doors opening, voices overlapping, questions firing too quickly to answer. “What happened?”
“What did you do?!”
“Was that the barrier?!”
Kazui moved before Mikoto could advance further, planting himself firmly between the interrogation room and the rest of the corridor. “Don’t,” he warned.
Mikoto looked disoriented more than anything else, chest heaving unevenly, one hand still flexing open and closed at his side. Behind him, Es was shaking so hard that Yuno had to steady them upright, and they still hadn’t looked away from Mikoto once.
“Move,” Kotoko snapped, already striding down the hall toward Mikoto.
Mahiru reached the scene a second later, eyes widening at the sight of Es clinging unsteadily to the wall beside Yuno. “Oh my god—”
“Don’t crowd them,” Yuno shot back instantly, tightening her grip around Es before they could slide to the floor. “Give them space.”
Es sucked in a shaky breath through clenched teeth. The sound was small, humiliatingly small. Mikoto finally seemed to notice the state of the hallway around him. His gaze flicked from Kazui to the others gathering nearby, then past them to Es. Something in his expression faltered. “I…” he started weakly.
“Cell. Now.” Kotoko’s voice cracked through the corridor like a whip, and Mikoto didn’t argue. Kazui kept pace beside him anyway, wary, while Kotoko moved on his other side with visible tension still coiled through her posture. Shidou followed several steps behind, eyes lingering briefly on Es before disappearing down the hall after them.
The second Mikoto vanished, the corridor erupted properly. “What happened in there?” Fuuta demanded.
“The barrier activated,” Mahiru said quickly. “I heard it.”
“Yeah, late,” Yuno snapped. “Obviously.” Es flinched; it was barely noticeable, but Yuno felt it immediately.
“They shouldn’t have been alone with him in the first place,” Fuuta muttered.
“That’s literally their job,” Kotoko shot back from farther down the hall.
“Then maybe they should be able to actually handle it.” The words hit harder than Fuuta seemed to intend. Es’s shoulders drew tighter instinctively, head lowering another fraction.
Amane’s gaze remained fixed on them, unsettlingly calm. “They ran away,” she said quietly.
The hallway stilled, and Yuno looked at her incredulously. “Are you serious right now?”
“A prison warden should face judgment properly,” Amane replied. “If this prison was given to them by God, then abandoning their post during a trial—”
“They were attacked,” Mahiru cut in sharply.
“But they fled.”
Kotoko crossed her arms. “She’s not entirely wrong.”
Yuno stared at her. “What?”
Kotoko’s expression didn’t soften. “A warden that needs prisoners to intervene isn’t much of a warden.” Es’s hand tightened against their own sleeve hard enough that their knuckles whitened.
Fuuta scoffed. “Oh, so now everyone suddenly cares about defending our jailer?”
“Nobody said that,” Mahiru snapped.
“They interrogate us every day!”
“And they’re still a person!”
“Yeah, well, maybe if they can’t handle—” Fuuta stopped. Es’s face had gone pale beneath the harsh corridor lighting, breathing still uneven despite how obviously they were trying to hide it. Their sleeve trembled slightly beneath their own grip. Without the hat, without the composed posture, without the cold expression they usually wore, they looked painfully young. Fuuta’s expression shifted almost instantly. “Oh,” he said; Es looked away immediately.
Yuno’s voice sharpened. “Can all of you stop talking about them like they aren’t standing right here?” Es swallowed hard, blinking rapidly before turning their face further toward the wall.
Mahiru softened. “Es…” They recoiled slightly at their name. That tiny movement finally seemed to shake something loose in the room. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind the torn uniform, the shaking, and the way Es still hadn’t spoken a single word.
Yuno adjusted her grip carefully. “Hey,” she said more gently. “Why don’t we get you sitting down somewhere—”
Es pulled away. “I’m fine.” Their voice came out rough and strained, barely audible, and before anyone could respond, they turned and started down the hallway. One hand dragging briefly along the wall for balance. Every step jarred painfully up one side of their body, but slowing down felt impossible. They could still hear the argument behind them even after turning the corner. Their throat tightened, and Es swallowed it down. The prison lights felt too bright now, burning against aching eyes. Their ribs screamed every time they inhaled too deeply.
They opened their door on the second try. Es stumbled inside and slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the walls. Silence hit immediately afterward. For one horrible second, they just stood there with their back pressed against the door, chest heaving unevenly. Then the adrenaline broke. A strangled sound escaped them before they could stop it. Es clapped a hand over their mouth instantly, like they could force it back inside. No, no, no— Their knees buckled, and they hit the floor hard enough to send pain lancing up their side, but it barely registered over everything else crashing through them now. Their breathing turned sharp and uneven, each inhale catching halfway in their chest.
They were being too loud. Es curled forward tightly, one arm wrapped around their ribs while the other stayed clamped over their mouth, desperately trying to smother every sound before it escaped.
Every time they shut their eyes, they saw flashes of it again: the table slamming sideways, hands catching them, the barrier not activating, the horrible moment of realizing nobody was stopping this. A sob forced its way out anyway, muffled hard against their palm. God, this was mortifying. They’d run. In front of everyone. They’d needed prisoners to protect them. The thought made something twist sickeningly in their stomach.
Es pressed their forehead harder against their knees, trying to force the shaking to stop through sheer willpower. It only made their bruised ribs ache worse. Their uniform felt suffocating now, crooked fabric sticking uncomfortably against sweat-damp skin. Another breath hitched wrong. Their throat hurt, and at first they thought it was from the panic.
Then their fingers brushed the side of their neck by accident, and pain flared sharply enough to make them jerk. Es froze. Slowly, carefully, they touched the area again; it was tender. Already swelling slightly beneath the skin. They snatched their hand away immediately, like touching it made everything more real. Es squeezed their eyes shut. They couldn’t think about that right now. Couldn’t think about how helpless they’d been. How easily it had happened. How terrified they’d looked. How everyone had seen it. Another shaky breath slipped out, quieter this time.
Es pressed both hands over their mouth now, shoulders trembling violently as they tried to cry silently enough that nobody outside the room could hear. Because if someone noticed, knocked, saw them like this, then the last fragile piece of authority they still had would shatter completely.
The room had gone quiet eventually. Es sat curled against the door long after the shaking stopped, forehead resting against folded arms while the lights hummed softly overhead. Their ribs still ached every time they breathed too deeply. Every muscle in their body felt wrung out and heavy. At some point, the silence outside the room had shifted as if the prison was settling back into routine. Like nothing catastrophic had happened at all.
Slowly, stiffly, they pushed themself upright. They sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and stayed still until it faded enough to move again. Their reflection in the dark monitor across the room looked awful: hair still uneven and disheveled, collar stretched crooked, eyes red. Es looked away abruptly, adjusting their uniform mechanically instead, fingers fumbling slightly over the loose button near their throat. It refused to sit correctly anymore.
After another long moment of hesitation, Es finally opened the door and froze. Their cape and hat sat neatly folded just outside. For a second, they only stared. The cape had been smoothed carefully, the twisted fabric straightened back into place. Even the clasp had been untangled. Their hat rested on top of it, both deliberate and neat, like whoever brought them had tried to preserve some last shred of dignity. Heat crawled unpleasantly up Es’s neck. Relief hit first; sharp, immediate, and embarrassing. They hadn’t wanted to go back for them. The thought of stepping into that interrogation room again made something cold twist in their stomach, but the relief curdled almost instantly into shame. Someone had seen the cape on the floor, the hat left behind, the evidence of how badly they’d lost control, and had picked everything up for them like a child forgetting belongings after a meltdown.
Es swallowed hard. After a second, they crouched carefully to retrieve the items, movements stiff from bruising already beginning to settle deeper beneath the skin. The cape clasp clicked faintly as they fastened it back into place. The hat went on last.
The prison corridors felt different now, or maybe the difference was them. Doors seemed quieter when they passed. By the time they reached the cafeteria, voices were drifting through the doorway ahead. “—seriously looked terrified,” Muu was saying. Es stopped instinctively just outside the room. “I’ve literally never seen them like that before,” She continued, voice pitched lower in the way people spoke when discussing something they knew they probably shouldn’t. “Like, they almost fell over.”
“I don’t think we should be talking about it,” Haruka muttered quietly. Es recognizes their voices.
“No, but think about it,” Muu pressed. “What even happened in there? Because if the barrier activated late—” Es stepped into the doorway, and Muu jerked upright so fast she nearly dropped the drink in her hands. The worst part was the concern. Es could handle resentment, but this awful cautiousness hanging in the room now felt unbearable. Like everyone had collectively realized something fragile about them. Muu opened her mouth once, closed it, then finally managed a weak, “…You look better?”
Es’s expression didn’t change. “I’m fine,” they said flatly, and nobody looked convinced. The silence stretched awkwardly through the common room, thick with all the things nobody knew how to say now.
“Well,” Muu said too brightly, clearly trying to force the atmosphere back toward normal, “you definitely don’t look fine.” Haruka elbowed her immediately. “What?!” Muu hissed back.
Es turned to leave before either of them could continue. “Es.” Shidou stood near the far side of the room. They hadn’t even noticed him, and that alone made unease crawl down their spine. Shidou’s gaze moved over them once, quick, clinical, observant. Es straightened instinctively beneath it. “You’re injured,” Shidou said.
“I’m aware.”
“You should let me examine—”
“No.” The answer came too fast. A flicker of something crossed Shidou’s expression, like something he had thought had just been confirmed, as if he expected resistance from the start.
Es clenched their jaw; Shidou stepped closer anyway, though carefully this time. “You’re limping.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You were in a physical altercation with someone bigger than you.” Heat flared beneath Es’s skin. Because there it was again: not warden, not authority, fifteen, small, overpowered.
Es’s nails dug harder into their sleeve. “You should worry about Mikoto,” they snapped suddenly. “If you want someone to heal.”
Shidou didn’t react for a second. Then, very quietly, “I already checked him.” Es froze, having not expected that. Shidou’s gaze stayed steady on them. “He has one significant bruise to the abdomen and minor injuries otherwise.” His voice remained frustratingly calm. “You, meanwhile, can barely stand correctly.” The humiliation hit like an unexpected blow because now everyone else knew too, not just that Es had lost, but how badly.
Es looked away. “That’s enough.”
“No,” Shidou said gently. “I know you don’t want help, but you should at least let someone check your throat.” His expression sharpened almost imperceptibly, and suddenly Es became horribly aware of every eye in the room again. The bruising hidden beneath their collar. The soreness every time they swallowed. The fact that Shidou had figured it out anyway.
Panic flared hot in their chest. “I said,” Es bit out, voice rougher now, “drop it.”
The room stayed still. Shidou studied them for a long moment, and for the first time since approaching, something heavier settled into his expression. The kind of concern adults had when they knew a child was lying directly to their face, and also knew pushing harder would only make them bolt. Which, humiliatingly, Es probably would. Finally, Shidou exhaled softly through his nose. “…Fine,” he said.
Es didn’t relax because that tone didn’t sound convinced. Across the room, Amane watched the exchange silently. Her expression had shifted slightly to something a bit steadier. Es had refused treatment and continued standing despite obvious pain. To Amane, that probably looked closer to what authority was supposed to be. If anything, she seemed to respect them more now than she had in the hallway.
The room stayed quiet for a moment after Shidou backed off, like everyone was trying to figure out what version of Es existed now. Without another word, they turned toward the door again. “Warden,” Haruka said suddenly. Es paused, and Haruka immediately looked like he regretted speaking. “I just…” He fidgeted awkwardly with his sleeves, avoiding direct eye contact. “Um. I’m glad you’re okay.” The sincerity in it landed strangely.
Es didn’t know what to do with that. “…I’m functioning,” they corrected stiffly.
Haruka blinked before mumbling, “That’s not really the same.”
Before they could respond, Muu abruptly leaned forward again, clearly unable to tolerate emotional tension for longer than thirty seconds. “So like,” she said carefully, “are interrogations just cancelled now or—”
“Muu,” Haruka hissed.
“What?! I’m asking!”
“You are remarkably insensitive,” Amane said flatly from nearby.
Muu threw her hands up. “Okay, wow, suddenly I’m the bad guy?”
Amane ignored her completely, gaze settling instead on Es. “You continued your duties despite what happened,” she said calmly. “At least now you’re behaving properly.” The approval in her voice made Es deeply uncomfortable. Still, some ugly, exhausted part of them latched onto the validation anyway. Because at least Amane still sounded like she saw a warden standing there, and not just a frightened kid.
Es straightened slightly. “…The prison’s operations are continuing as normal,” they said, forcing their voice back into its usual clipped neutrality. “This incident will not affect scheduled procedures.”
Muu stared at them. “You literally got strangled like an hour ago.” The room froze; Es did too. Muu’s eyes widened in instant horror at her own wording. “I—okay, that sounded REALLY bad when I said it out loud—”
Haruka looked ready to die on the spot. Across the room, Shidou closed his eyes briefly like he had just developed a migraine. Es could feel every gaze in the room snap toward their collar. Heat flooded their face so fast it almost hurt. “That will be all,” they said sharply and swiftly walked out before anyone could say another word.
Behind them, Muu whispered a frantic, “OH MY GOD I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT—” The door shut behind Es before the rest could follow.
The hallway felt blessedly empty again. For several seconds, Es just stood there rigidly, staring at the opposite wall while mortification burned hot beneath their skin. Then they inhaled carefully through aching ribs and forced themself to move again. Prisoner checks, incident documentation, routine. If they kept moving, maybe they wouldn’t have to think about the fact that half the prison now knew what bruises looked like beneath their collar.
Es made it exactly halfway down the hall before another door slid open. “Oh, there you are.” They stopped instinctively. The second Mahiru saw them properly, her entire expression tightened with concern all over again. “You’re still walking like that,” she said immediately.
“I walk perfectly fine.”
“You absolutely do not,” Yuno said from somewhere behind her.
Es nearly flinched; they hadn’t even noticed Yuno there. Apparently, their situational awareness had deteriorated now, too. Mahiru stepped closer before Es could retreat. “Did Shidou check your injuries?”
“No.”
Both women stared at them, and Yuno pinched the bridge of her nose. “Es—”
“I do not require treatment.”
“Did you decide that?”
Es’s jaw tightened; this conversation was already unbearable. Mahiru’s expression softened further, which somehow made everything worse. “At least let someone help with the bruising,” she said gently. “You looked really hurt earlier.”
As if they hadn’t already spent the past hour trying to forget the hallway scene entirely. “I’m functional,” Es said flatly.
Yuno crossed her arms. “You say that like it means something.”
“It means exactly what it sounds like.”
“No, it means you’re avoiding the actual problem.”
Es could already feel themself getting cornered again; too many eyes, too much concern, too much softness. Mahiru reached toward them carefully. “Your collar’s sitting weird—” Es jerked backward instantly. The movement pulled painfully through their side hard enough that their breath caught.
Mahiru slowly lowered her hand. “…Sorry,” she said quietly. The guilt in her voice hit Es unexpectedly hard because now she felt bad.
Es looked away, pulse suddenly hammering unpleasantly again beneath their bruised throat. “I’m fine,” they repeated, weaker this time.
Yuno’s expression shifted slightly at that. “You know,” she said carefully, “we are allowed to care that you got hurt.”
The statement lodged somewhere painfully beneath their ribs. Because logically, they knew that, but emotionally, all they heard was: everyone thinks you’re weak now. Mahiru seemed to notice the way Es’s shoulders had tightened again because her voice softened even more. “You don’t have to pretend around us.”
That was the exact wrong thing to say. The panic came fast and irrational and immediate; Es took a sharp step backward. “I have responsibilities to attend to,” they said quickly.
Yuno sighed. “Es—”
“The prisoner welfare check is still incomplete.”
“That can wait.”
“No, it cannot.” Their tone came out harsher than intended, and Mahiru recoiled slightly.
After a tense second, Yuno exhaled slowly through her nose and held up both hands in surrender. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. We’ll stop.” Es didn’t believe that for a second, and judging by Yuno’s expression, neither did she.
Mahiru hesitated before speaking again, quieter this time. “…At least come get one of us if you need help later?” The sincerity in her voice hurt.
Es couldn’t answer that, so instead they gave the smallest possible nod, barely more than a dip of the head, and turned away before either of them could see how dangerously close to overwhelmed they suddenly felt again. Behind them, Yuno muttered softly, “They’re absolutely going to make this worse for themself.”
Kotoko was exactly where Es expected her to be, near Mikoto’s cell, like she was standing guard. She glanced over, gaze dropping once, briefly, to the slight unevenness in Es’s stance before returning to their face. Es suppressed the urge to straighten further. “The prisoner welfare check,” they said flatly. “Are there any issues to report?”
Kotoko leaned back against the wall behind her, arms crossed. “You mean besides the part where the prison warden got overpowered during an interrogation?”
Es’s stomach twisted. “I am handling the matter.”
“You handled it badly.” The words landed hard precisely because Es already agreed. Kotoko pushed off the wall and stepped closer, expression sharp. “You got lucky the rest of us were nearby.”
Es’s jaw tightened. “I did not ask for intervention.”
“No,” Kotoko said bluntly, “you just ran into the hallway looking half-dead.” Heat flared violently across Es’s face; their hands curled tighter at their sides. Kotoko noticed that too. “You’re supposed to control the prisoners,” she continued. “Not force them to control each other for you.”
Es looked away first because there was nothing to argue with there. Quietly, they mumbled, “Protective measures failed.”
Kotoko’s expression shifted slightly. “And what exactly was your backup plan after that?” Es didn’t answer because there hadn’t been one. That seemed to tell Kotoko enough. She exhaled sharply through her nose, irritated in a way that felt strangely less hostile than before. “For someone in charge of a prison, your self-preservation instincts are terrible.”
“Noted.”
Kotoko studied them for another long second; then her eyes narrowed suddenly. “You didn’t go back for them.”
Es blinked. “…What?”
“Your hat and cape,” Kotoko said impatiently. “You left them in the interrogation room.”
Understanding hit immediately, and something awkward and unpleasant twisted beneath Es’s ribs. “I retrieved them,” They said carefully.
“No,” Kotoko corrected. “I retrieved them. Because apparently, you were too busy locking yourself in your room, having a breakdown.”
Es went rigid. Kotoko’s expression didn’t change, but there was something strange underneath, like concern. “You’re lucky nobody else picked them up first,” she continued. “The whole prison already saw enough.” The words should have felt cruel; instead, they felt like she was trying to preserve their dignity.
Es didn’t know what to do with that. “…I didn’t ask you to.”
Kotoko scoffed. “Obviously.” Then, quieter, “You still should’ve been more careful.”
Es stared at the floor for a second too long. Because the frustrating thing was that Kotoko didn’t sound disgusted, she sounded worried, and somehow that was much harder to bear. Finally, Es forced themself back into stiffness. “The concern is unnecessary.”
Kotoko gave them a long look. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve said all day.”
Es opened their mouth automatically, ready with another denial, and stopped because they genuinely had no idea how to respond. The silence stretched just a little too long. Then Es straightened stiffly again, defaulting back to procedure because procedure was safer than whatever this conversation had become. “The welfare check is ongoing,” they said flatly. “Notify me if any issues arise.”
Kotoko snorted softly. “Yeah. Sure.”
Es turned before she could say anything else. They exhaled sharply through their nose, and their ribs protested. At this point, even breathing felt humiliating. They moved carefully, trying not to show the slight hitch in their gait every time too much weight landed wrong. It was getting harder as every bruise seemed to be settling deeper by the minute.
Voices drifted toward them from Kazui’s cell. “…I’m just saying, if you hadn’t stepped in—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Kazui said quietly.
Es slowed instinctively; Fuuta noticed them first. His entire posture jerked upright. “Oh. Uh.”
Kazui glanced over next, expression softening with visible relief the second he saw Es standing upright. “There you are,” he said. “You disappeared earlier.”
Es resisted the urge to bristle at the implication that they needed monitoring. “The situation required de-escalation,” they said instead.
Fuuta looked like he wanted to argue with that and apologize simultaneously, and was internally losing the fight. Which, honestly, was almost more uncomfortable than if he’d just yelled at them again. “You look like crap,” he blurted out finally.
Kazui closed his eyes briefly. “Kajiyama.”
“What? They do!”
Es stared at him flatly, and Fuuta wilted almost instantly beneath the look. “…Okay, that sounded less rude in my head.”
“It rarely does,” Kazui murmured.
Fuuta shot him an offended glance before looking back at Es again, visibly struggling through something. Earlier, he’d been angry, defensive, and hostile toward the idea of protecting the warden. Now he couldn’t even look directly at the bruising near Es’s collar. “I just mean…” He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “You should probably sit down or something.”
Es almost said: I did not ask for your concern, but the words felt exhausting. “I remain capable of fulfilling my duties.”
Fuuta made a face. “That’s not what I said.”
Kazui leaned lightly against the wall nearby, arms crossed loosely. “How’s the pain level?” he asked.
Es stiffened on instinct. “Irrelevant.”
“That bad, huh?”
“It is manageable.”
Kazui’s expression said very clearly that he did not believe that for a second. Fortunately, he also had the restraint not to push too hard about it, unlike everyone else today. Fuuta shifted awkwardly again before blurting, “For the record, I didn’t know it was that bad.” Es blinked once. Fuuta immediately looked horrified at himself for saying something that sounded emotionally sincere. “I mean—not that I was saying it was okay!” he corrected quickly. “Just— y’know— you’re always acting all creepy and in-control and stuff, so—”
“Fuuta,” Kazui warned gently.
“I’m digging this hole deeper, I know.” Es looked at Fuuta for a long second, and suddenly, almost painfully, they understood what he meant. The others had never really thought about the possibility of Es getting hurt before. It was established as impossible. Es was the warden, the authority figure, the one conducting interrogations, not the one fleeing from them. Something tight twisted unpleasantly in their chest.
Kazui seemed to notice the shift in their expression because his voice softened slightly when he spoke again. “You scared people today.”
Es looked away first. “…The situation is contained now,” they said quietly. Neither of them responded.
Es stood outside cell nine longer than necessary. The hat helped them feel composed from a distance, but up close, there was no hiding the exhaustion dragging at the edges of their posture anymore. Still, procedure was procedure.
Es let themself in. Inside, Mikoto was sitting on the floor beside the bed, shoulders tense enough that he looked startled the second the door opened. Then he saw who it was, and shot up like panic had yanked him upright before he could think better of it. Es instinctively stiffened, and the reaction didn’t escape Mikoto’s notice. His expression crumpled almost instantly. “…Right,” he said quietly.
For a second, neither of them spoke. Mikoto looked awful, too, honestly. Not physically, Shidou had been right about that, but emotionally. He was pale, unsteady, like someone trying to piece together a disaster from fragments everyone else understood better than he did. “They told me…” He swallowed hard. “I hurt you.”
Es’s face remained unreadable. “The situation has been addressed.”
“That’s not—” Mikoto stopped abruptly, visibly trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I don’t really remember it. I just know everyone looked at me like…” He laughed weakly once, horribly strained. “Like I was gonna kill somebody.” Es said nothing because for a moment, they had thought the same thing. Mikoto noticed the silence; his eyes dropped toward the bruising visible above Es’s collar. Then lower to the unevenness in their stance and the stiffness in the way they held themself. Guilt flooded visibly across his face. “Oh god,” he said quietly.
Es’s stomach twisted; they recognized that expression of pity, horror, and regret. They hated all of them. “It wasn’t you,” Es said flatly; Mikoto blinked. “The system failed,” they continued before he could respond. “Protective measures activated later than intended. The incident escalated as a result.” The wording sounded almost identical to an incident report already forming in Es’s head.
Mikoto stared at them. “…That’s not really an answer.”
“It is the official assessment.”
“I don’t care about the official assessment!” The sudden sharpness in his voice made both of them freeze. Mikoto recoiled immediately afterward, horror crossing his face all over again. “Sorry. I just—” He dragged a hand through his hair shakily. “People keep saying I attacked you and you won’t even look at me properly, and I don’t know what happened.”
Es looked at him then, briefly, and that almost made it worse because Mikoto looked genuinely frightened by the possibility of what he might have done. “…You became aggravated during interrogation,” Es said carefully. “Physical aggression followed. The barrier delay allowed further escalation.”
Mikoto stared at them for another long moment. “You talk about it like a machine report.”
If Es talked about it like a memory, they might start shaking again. They kept their expression perfectly still. “The incident is resolved.”
“No, it’s not.” The words came out soft this time, tired. Mikoto looked away first, shoulders curling inward. “I really hurt you, didn’t I?”
The fact that the answer was obvious, the evidence was standing right there in front of him. “…The injuries are manageable,” Es said finally.
Mikoto closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Es felt something unpleasant. After a long pause, they answered in the same flat voice they’d used all evening. “Understood.”
Es sat rigidly at the desk, shoulders tense beneath the cape, carefully draped back into place. The prison had gone mostly quiet hours ago, but sleep still felt impossibly far away. Every movement pulled somewhere painful. Their ribs throbbed steadily now beneath the uniform. Bruising along their throat had darkened enough that they’d finally stopped trying to adjust the collar to hide it better.
The incident report remained in front of them. Es stared at the blank form for several long seconds before writing: During a routine interrogation session with Prisoner 09, the prisoner became physically aggravated following verbal escalation. They stopped. Crossed out aggravated and replaced it with uncooperative. Scribbled that too. Their pen hovered briefly over the page before finally settling on: unstable.
Es continued writing: Protective countermeasures failed to activate within standard response time, resulting in prolonged physical conflict between Prisoner 09 and the warden. Prolonged physical conflict, like it had been mutual, like they hadn’t spent most of it trying unsuccessfully to get away. Es forced themself onward. Outside intervention resulted in the successful de-escalation of the incident. The word intervention sat heavily on the page because it sounded so much cleaner than rescue.
Es looked away from the paper briefly, eyes stinging unpleasantly from exhaustion. The room was too quiet again. Their fingers drifted unconsciously toward the bruising at their throat before stopping halfway there. They had to focus. Another section waited below. Warden condition following incident:
Es froze; their ribs hurt, their throat hurt, their entire body still felt unsteady in a way they hated acknowledging. Slowly, mechanically, they wrote: Minor physical injuries sustained. Operational capacity retained. The wording made something twist sickeningly in their stomach. “Operational capacity retained.” Like they were documenting damage to equipment. The paper trembled faintly in their hands, and they clipped the pages neatly onto a board anyway, smoothing the corners flat with mechanical precision before forcing themself upright from the desk. Pain flared sharply through their ribs so suddenly their vision blurred for half a second. Es caught themself against the edge of the desk before the stumble could fully happen.
By the time they reached Shidou’s cell, the sharpest edge of the pain had dulled back into a steady throb again. Es knocked once to be polite before entering; it’s not like they actually needed permission. He looked unsurprised to see them. Es held out the clipboard immediately before he could comment on anything. “The incident report requires confirmation regarding Prisoner Nine’s post-incident condition.”
Shidou accepted the clipboard slowly, eyes scanning over the printed report in silence. His expression shifted subtly halfway through reading. “You wrote this clinically,” he observed quietly.
“It is an incident report.”
“Hm.”
Es straightened slightly. “Prisoner Nine’s documented injuries?”
Shidou flipped to the medical section. “Abdominal bruising consistent with blunt force trauma,” he said after a moment. “Minor secondary bruising. No internal damage suspected.”
Es nodded once. “We will update the report according—” They stopped. Shidou looked up slowly, and they felt their stomach drop. Es corrected instantly, voice flattening harder. “The report will be updated accordingly.”
Shidou said nothing about the slip, but his eyes lingered on Es for a second too long instead. “There’s no warden assessment attached.”
Es’s shoulders tightened. “The injuries are minor.”
“That isn’t how medical documentation works.”
“It is sufficient.”
“No,” Shidou said calmly, “it isn’t.”
Es resisted the urge to grit their teeth. “I did not come here for treatment.”
“I know.” Shidou set the clipboard aside carefully. “I’m asking for documentation,” he continued evenly. “If the report includes prisoner injuries, it should include the warden’s injuries as well.” Es hesitated. Because framed like that, refusing sounded irresponsible, and after today, they could not afford to look irresponsible again. Shidou seemed to notice the exact moment that argument landed because his tone remained frustratingly gentle when he added, “Assessment only. No treatment unless necessary.”
Es hated how reasonable that sounded. Several long seconds passed. “…Fine.” The word came out reluctant and exhausted.
Shidou nodded once like he’d expected that answer eventually. “Sit down.”
“I can stand.”
“You are currently swaying.”
Es froze; they had not realized that. They sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shidou moved with practiced efficiency, retrieving supplies without unnecessary commentary. The quiet somehow made the situation feel even more exposed. “Cape off.” Es complied stiffly. “Collar.” They paused before slowly loosening the top of their shirt enough for the bruising at their throat to become fully visible.
Shidou went still for a fraction of a second; that brief pause told them enough. “Any difficulty breathing?” Shidou asked quietly.
“No.”
“Swallowing?”
Es hesitated a fraction too long. “…Minor soreness.”
Shidou hummed softly, already documenting something. The pen scratching against paper felt strangely loud. “Ribs?”
“Bruised.”
“That wasn’t a yes-or-no question.” Es looked away, and Shidou exhaled softly through his nose. “Lift your shirt slightly.” Humiliation flared immediately; still, Es complied after a moment, movements stiff. The bruising along their side had darkened dramatically over the past few hours, ugly purple-blue spreading beneath pale skin. Finger-shaped marks stood out sharply near one wrist.
Shidou’s expression tightened subtly. “The bruising is fairly severe,” he said carefully. “Do you bruise easily?”
Es opened their mouth automatically and stopped. They didn’t know. The realization hit strangely every time. There should have been an answer there, but instead, there was nothing. “…There isn’t much documentation on me,” Es said finally.
The pen stopped moving; Shidou blinked once. “That’s…” He frowned slightly. “Not really what I asked.”
Es felt irritation spark beneath the embarrassment. “There is limited medical history available.”
“Available to who?”
Es realized too late that they had trapped themself again. A normal person would say: I don’t know or I’ve never noticed. Shidou was looking at them strangely now, concerned. “…I don’t remember,” Es admitted stiffly at last.
The room went quiet again, and somehow that felt worse than if Shidou had reacted right away. His voice softened noticeably when he finally spoke again. “I see.” The silence lingered for another moment before Shidou finally looked back down at his notes. His pen resumed moving across the page in neat, practiced strokes. “You likely strained the ankle during the fall,” he said clinically, as if easing the conversation back toward safer ground. “Nothing appears broken, but excessive weight-bearing will aggravate it.”
“I am capable of walking.”
The scratching of the pen continued. “Bruising around the torso is significant,” Shidou continued. “Throat bruising consistent with compression. Wrist bruising consistent with forceful restraint.” His eyes flicked upward briefly. “There are also signs of mild confusion.”
Immediately, Es stiffened. “That is unrelated.”
Shidou paused; the response had come too fast. “…Unrelated,” he repeated carefully.
“Yes.”
“To the incident?” Es said nothing. Because technically, the dizziness and occasional lapses in thought had been happening long before today. The confusion and strange disconnects weren’t new. Shidou watched them for another second before writing something else down anyway. “Possible concussion,” he said quietly, “Further monitoring would be advisable.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“That isn’t your decision to make medically.”
“It is operationally.”
A flicker of frustration crossed Shidou’s face at that wording. Eventually, though, he exhaled softly and tore the assessment sheet free from the clipboard. “You should still keep the symptoms monitored,” he said while handing it over. “If the dizziness worsens, if you develop nausea, blurred vision, worsening headaches—”
“It is manageable.” Shidou gave them a look that very clearly communicated: That phrase has lost all meaning. Still, he let the argument drop.
Es accepted both reports carefully, movements more deliberate now that their hands had started trembling again from exhaustion. Mikoto’s assessment sat clipped neatly behind their own. For a second, neither of them spoke. Then, stiffly, “…Thank you for your cooperation.”
Shidou’s expression softened again in that deeply aggravating way. “Try to sleep tonight, Es.”
They simply turned and left. The prison corridors had gone completely silent by the time Es returned to their room. They locked the door behind them immediately and crossed back toward the desk, setting the reports down. For several seconds, they just stood there staring at Shidou’s handwriting. Minor ankle injury indicative of a fall. Major bruising around torso, throat, and wrist. Presentation consistent with forceful restraint. Subject displays signs of confusion and cognitive fog. Possible link to a head injury. Continued monitoring advised. Es’s jaw tightened; the wording felt wrong.
Slowly, they sat back down and grabbed a blank report they had copied from what they had previously written and paused again before: Warden condition following incident: Es began editing. Minor bruising sustained during altercation. They didn’t write: major bruising around torso, throat, and wrist. Instead, localized bruising present.
Next line: Minor ankle strain sustained during rapid movement. Not: indicative of fall. Es’s eyes drifted lower across Shidou’s notes. Signs of confusion and cognitive fog. That wasn’t from the incident; it wasn’t damage. That was just— Es stopped. Their thoughts felt frustratingly slippery for a second, like trying to grab hold of water. After a moment, they forced themself onward. Operational capacity retained.