"The academy would never allow a student to be harmed within the hospital, as it would ruin its reputation, so you don’t have to worry. You are safe here."
"Regardless, it took a great deal for the hospital to suppress students from attempting to break in. So, until you are discharged, don’t leave this room. If you need anything, summon me, and I will be here to handle everything."
Though I was furious, I knew they wouldn’t keep their word, so I wasn’t surprised by this piece of information.
I nodded in understanding.
"One more thing," Cynthia said, "Instructor Serafina of the First-year Beseker Path came looking for you twice. Fortunately, you weren’t awake at that time."
Her tone was laced with caution.
"You should avoid meeting her for now. The last time a case happened, she shattered the student’s eggs, sending him to the hospital for the entire year."
"Is that rumour really true?" I whispered.
I wanted to know if they were made up to build her reputation or if she was truly so brutal.
"It’s true. I know the nurse who handled the issue," Cynthia nodded solemnly.
Though I had no intentions of meeting her, this strengthened my conviction to avoid her.
"However, I think that she might be curious about how you managed to defeat Ivory, the top ranked Magical Swordsman in your class. And to be honest, everyone else, including I, are also curious about how you did it," Cynthia said. Her gaze gleamed with curiosity.
She wouldn’t leave until she received a response.
However, I couldn’t reveal the system’s existence. No matter what.
"I simply gave it my all."
Cynthia rolled her eyes.
"Well, after seeing the injuries that you have sustained, I’m certain that you truly gave it your all," she said, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
Then, her curiosity vanished. Her gaze became detached again.
Her expression morphed back into expressionless.
"You know this was the first I had seen you smile in your sleep," she added.
"It was a good change from the nightmares you usually had. I don’t know what kind of training or secret technique you practiced to push your body to such a limit, but I won’t pry into it. I know everyone has their own secret."
"I just hope that you won’t push yourself past the limit your body can handle, or you could end up as an awakener with a crippled Spirit Vein."
I raised a brow, surprised.
I hadn’t expected that she watched me while I was asleep.
"I didn’t think you had anything more important to do than to watch me."
"I am your nurse. It is my duty to check on you to ensure the treatment is effective," Cynthia responded, her gaze narrowed with a cold glare directed at me.
"Congratulations on your victory, Mr. Ezekiel." Cynthia bowed respectfully.
"The rankings of the first-year Magical Swordsman will definitely witness some surprising changes at the end of this term’s exams."
"If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me."
"I will be taking my leave."
She checked my temperature. Arranged the bed sheets over me.
Then, turned around and left.
Upon learning that I would be caring for a direct descendant of a noble household, despite the fact that the pay was higher than taking care of five or ten students, I almost refused.
Descendants of the noble household were known to be obnoxious, distrustful, arrogant, and uncooperative. Working with them was like being trapped in a lion’s den with a migraine.
Even veteran nurses avoided them, and newbies, if they survived, needed months to recover their sanity.
They were a nightmare.
But even I was lured in by the alluring pay.
So I steeled myself for it, convinced that I would be dealing with yet another problem child in gold-trimmed robes.
The boy was so low in the Zahara Clan’s hierarchy that rumours said even servants were treated better than him.
On the day of the entrance exam, he was branded by his peers with a title that clung to him like a curse: the Worst One, both among nobles and commoners alike.
Naturally, I expected a wreck.
Someone addicted to addicted to alchemy-grade suppressants. Plagued by anxiety, depression, trauma and the self-confidence of a worm.
Someone quiet, nervous. Maybe even violent.
I prepared myself to wear the hats of both a nurse and a psychologist. Maybe even a therapist.
Thankfully, the pay was more than enough to see it as a side job.
I could play both nurse and babysitter for a beaten-down noble’s heir if it meant earning a few more zeros in my bank account.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to meet him.
He was carried into the clinic after collapsing during the entrance exam, battered, bleeding, and unconscious.
He screamed in his sleep that night.
I realised that he had nightmares, very violent ones.
I realised my speculations about him were correct.
When he awakened, I discovered that I wasn’t dealing with a young man with a traumatic disorder.
He was a bold, confident, jovial, and outspoken young man who thanked me for the treatment.
He addressed everyone in the room with respect.
There were no signs of trauma.
There was no trace of the noble poison I had braced myself against.
He carried the air of nobility with grace, except it was apparent someone loaded the wrong personality chip. He walked out of the clinic with a bright smile, like he was ready to take on the world.
And then, the pattern began.
Every week, he returned from the dungeon, battered, injured and half alive. Hauled into the clinic on a stretcher.
Every night, during his recovery, he was chased by his nightmares. He screamed.
And every time, I couldn’t help but pity him more.
I found myself watching him more closely.
Ezekiel Zahara was a miserable young man.