Savor the Personal Healing from the Head Nurse, Young Man!

Just as Kirie's body surrendered to exhaustion, two figures materialized beside him, their movements swift yet effortless, as if appearing from thin air. One bore an aura of icy serenity, her cerulean-blue hair cascading like a frozen waterfall, its strands glinting under the golden sun. The other was a stark contrast—glistening silver-gold hair tied in a high ponytail, strands catching the light in a soft, celestial shimmer.

Taller than the two, Deb, Leora, and Elspeth exchanged silent acknowledgments, nodding to one another in an unspoken understanding.

"Isdis, Seren—take your brother to the infirmary," Deb instructed, his voice firm yet gentle.

At his cue, Leora stepped forward, watching as Seren crouched down, allowing Kirie's unconscious form to shift onto her back. His nanite armor, set to low-light mode from cosmic remnants, flickered as it unraveled, the liquid-like material retreating into the scattered jewelry that adorned his body, returning to dormancy.

As they moved, Leora's lips curled into a warm, knowing smile.

"I saw you two fight your phantoms," she mused, keeping pace beside them. Her sharp eyes flitted between them, taking in their stance, their movements—even the subtle exhaustion in their breathing. "Looking sharp out there. Proud of you two."

Seren adjusted her hold on Kirie, flashing a bright, confident grin.

"The rose still has more it's hiding from me, so I'll get there eventually!" she declared, the enthusiasm in her voice unwavering. The gilded crimson petals of the rose pinned above her heart pulsed softly, a quiet heartbeat of latent power. It was dormant now, but Leora could tell—it was only waiting for the right moment to bloom in full.

Beside her, Isdis held a more composed presence, though the glint in her deep-blue eyes spoke volumes. Her fingers brushed over the gilded cobalt tome fastened to a harness at her hip, its edges kissed by black ice, an ever-present reminder of the legacy she sought to master.

"Replicating the full strength of Mother's Deep Ice is still a long way off," she admitted, her voice quieter, more introspective. Her gaze flickered up to Kirie, watching his face—his breathing soft, peaceful, undisturbed by the weight of battle. Even in his exhaustion, he looked like he belonged there, cradled between the stars and the battlefield alike.

Leora hummed in amusement. They were their mother's children, no doubt about it.

Their small group moved forward, weaving through the dispersing freshmen, who fanned out into the different parts of the island resort. Unlike the battlegrounds they had left behind, this place was a realm of comfort and restoration, woven with a careful balance of magic and technology.

The island had a distinct color-coded motif that reflected its design:

The lounges were a sanctuary of tranquil greens, their hues evoking the peace of untouched nature.

The pools were encased in elegant shades of cerulean and sapphire, mimicking the ever-changing tides.

The rides, stretching skyward, gleamed in bright yellows, brimming with an electrifying promise of thrill and exhilaration.

The private rooms, tucked away in shaded alcoves, bore tones of black and grey, prioritizing serenity, solitude, and comfort.

And at the very heart of it all, the infirmary stood in pristine white, an unwavering beacon of healing and care.

Leora, Isdis, and Seren continued ahead, their pace steady but unhurried. Behind them, the other freshmen drifted apart, splitting off toward different destinations, each drawn toward whatever form of respite called to them.

But for now, Kirie's destination was clear. Whether he knew it or not, he was in good hands.

With mechanical doors whirring from magic open with a satisfying click, the expansive infirmary is laden with curtains and healing beds currently empty.

At one of many tables in the infirmary, a lone woman sat, the rhythmic spinning of her chair the only sign of life in the otherwise sterile space. Her bold, raven-black hair cascaded past her hips, a stark contrast to the crisp white doctor's coat that vainly attempted to disguise the abundant curves beneath.

As she pivoted to face them, her loose-fitting polo barely restrained the sheer weight of her ample chest, while the pencil skirt clinging to her wide, thirty-inch thighs and child-bearing hips looked as though it was holding on for dear life. The effect was both imposing and utterly at odds with the gloomy expression framed by her ill-kept bangs and round, oversized glasses.

A small, nervous squeak escaped her lips as her eyes met the three figures stepping into the infirmary.

"Doctor Olga, we've got an injured one."

Leora's voice carried an easy familiarity as she waved in greeting, while Seren—without hesitation—shifted Kirie's limp form onto the nearest healing bed.

At first glance, the bed seemed like a standard medical cot, but the subtle rippling movement beneath its surface betrayed its advanced design. It adjusted fluidly, rolling in calming waves, a shifting technology engineered to induce deep sleep and accelerate natural healing.

Olga bowed her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"H-hello…"

The greeting was barely audible, wavering and uncertain, as though spoken by a mouse rather than a fully grown woman. The planets in front of her solar system swung slightly with the movement, straining the buttons of her coat like celestial bodies caught in an unbalanced orbit.

Isdis barely masked her dismay, immediately turning her head away, arms crossing beneath her own far more reasonable proportions. Unlike Olga, Isdis was gifted in intellect and magical prowess, not in… whatever unnatural abundance this doctor possessed. It was like staring at her brother's four giant guards all over again.

Leora, unfazed as ever, cut straight to business.

"According to Principal Deb, he's got a rib lodged in his lung, preventing him from being able to function properly—let alone continue the next four trials." Her tone was calm but carried an undeniable weight of urgency.

Olga swallowed, fidgeting with the edge of her coat.

"O-okay, I g-got it… I-I'll make sure he's okay b-by tomorrow…" Her glasses slipped slightly, and she pushed them up with delicate fingers, her gaze drifting toward Kirie's unconscious form.

And then she smelled it.

A faint, golden scent, subtly intoxicating—warm, rich, lingering in the air like a forbidden delicacy. Her nose twitched involuntarily, her breath catching in her throat.

How… could a man smell so good?

A fire rekindled somewhere deep inside her, tainted with a strange, unspoken regret. Were they supposed to smell like this? Like guilty pleasure foods, sinful and utterly irresistible?

She cleared her throat, snapping herself out of the thought.

"Yup." Leora's voice pulled her back to reality. "The other freshmen are already getting themselves comfortable, so expect more students here soon." She turned toward Isdis and Seren with a smile.

Olga's fingers curled around the edge of her coat, an instinctive attempt to hide the sheer excess of her figure beneath her own arms—only to end up drawing more attention to them instead.

"T-the recovery beds are p-private and solitary," she stammered, voice softer now, "s-so there's no need to g-get close to students… or… h-help them… directly…"

Leora merely chuckled, raising a hand in farewell. "Alright, we just wanted to drop him off so you can work your magic. Give us an update when he stabilizes, okay?"

Without waiting for further protest, she turned on her heel, leading Isdis and Seren out of the infirmary.

As the doors shut behind them, Olga remained still for a moment, watching Kirie in silence. The golden scent lingered.

And for the first time in years, she felt something stir. She gulped. 

Olga Vandross, the Head Nurse of Emberlight.

A woman of quiet brilliance and even quieter presence, she stood at a respectable 5'8"—and as for her weight? She'd rather not share.

Thick black hair framed her soft, rounded face, cascading past her shoulders in waves of midnight silk. Her form, however, was a different matter—voluptuous to an almost excessive degree, a fact she found both uncomfortable and inconvenient. No matter how pristine her white coat or how modest her attire, there was no hiding the plush, curvaceous silhouette that drew lingering gazes she'd rather avoid.

But for all the unwanted attention her body commanded, her eyes—her true gift—commanded something else entirely. She saw things. Not just people, but their pain. It was her magic. A curse born from tragedy. A blessing forged from resolve.

As a child, Olga had watched her parents die—slowly, helplessly, painfully. With no money, no resources, no way to act beyond watching, thinking, and hoping, she had memorized every cruel detail of their suffering. She learned about sickness before she learned how to live. She became familiar with wounds before she became familiar with kindness.

And so, as she stood at their bedside, powerless to stop the inevitable, she made a vow.

No one else would die while she watched. That promise became her life's obsession.

She pushed herself to master medicine, nursing, magical healing—anything that could turn her gift into something useful. Her eyes, which once cursed her with the knowledge of things she could not change, became the key to her success. She rose to the top of her field, her introversion keeping her away from the politics of social circles, but never from her work.

And now, in the present, her unwavering gaze settled upon Kirie.

A soft glow emanated from her fingertips as she flicked through a floating HUD, scanning through his vitals. The injuries were severe—a fractured sternum, a rib puncturing his lung, residual mana exhaustion, mild neural strain, and dehydration from excessive output.

"Father, Sora Isogai, Mother, Neptune Neo-Tunia..." She'd whisper out loud. Neptune. The Goddess of Technology. He was their son? No wonder he was eye-catching. Being the son of a Hero and a woman who ushered in a golden era was no mere joke.

Just imagining the pressure on his shoulders were enough to make her toned back ache; and each weight on her chest was roughly thirty-five pounds.

Her glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose as she peered closer. "…Interesting."

Her nose twitched, catching a faint golden scent, rich and warm, curling through the air like an ember-laced breeze. It was peculiar—intoxicating in a way that unsettled her. There was something else. Something deeper.

Fingers hovered over the interface for a moment before she adjusted her glasses, squared her shoulders, and set to work.

The recovery beds in Empyrea Solis were unlike any other in the world. They weren't just designed for comfort and rejuvenation—they doubled as operating tables, equipped with state-of-the-art medical enchantments and precision-engineered automation.

Olga Vandross stood over Kireie's unconscious form, her fingers moving with quiet precision.

In stark contrast to her usual meek and apprehensive demeanor around people, here, in the sanctity of her infirmary, she was decisive. Every movement was measured, every command issued with absolute clarity.

She was in her element. And yet… as she hovered over him, her gaze lingered. Longer than it should have.

Kirie's scent was… unique. A warm, golden aroma, rich and subtle, curling through the sterile air like the scent of a favorite dish, the kind that evoked memories of comfort and longing. Or worse… pheromones.

What kind of man smelled like this?

The thought gnawed at her as the bed's automated arms gently slid the suspenders off his shoulders, peeling his sweater upward in a smooth, efficient motion. And then she saw it.

The moment his chest was revealed, Olga felt her breath hitch.

A deep, almost purple-black bruise spread across his sternum like a blooming flower of pain, stark against the otherwise smooth, pale canvas of his skin. His body—though small in stature compared to some of the other male students—was far from fragile.

Lean muscle, compact and dense.

Every part of him spoke of conditioning—not the over-bulked muscle of a bodybuilder, but the refined, balanced frame of a warrior. His nutritional levels were near-perfect, his muscle integrity and bone density above average, his neural activity consistently high. She had seen athletes, soldiers, and mages of renown, but Kirie…

His body was a masterpiece.

"…What a nice, healthy body…" she whispered absentmindedly.

Her fingers twitched as if tempted to reach out, but she clenched them into a tight fist, biting her lower lip. What was she thinking?

This wasn't the time for distractions.

Shaking her head, she exhaled sharply and returned her focus to the cold, clinical reality of his injuries.

A rib puncturing his lung. A fractured sternum. Internal bleeding subdued only by sheer willpower and nanite-enhanced armor.

She sighed and issued a silent command. A series of mechanized arms extended from the bedside, sterile and humming with soft light. A fine mist of disinfectant mana washed over his exposed torso as an automated injector pressed against his skin, delivering a slow-release anesthesia.

And yet… it still felt wrong. Having to cut into this felt like ruining a magnum opus.

'No. Focus. You're here to save his life, not admire him like a painting.' She exhaled again, this time slower, deeper.

With practiced efficiency, she initiated the next steps—sanitization, isolation, stabilization.

A focused surgical light clicked on, illuminating his chest with an almost reverent glow.

She'd remove the rib fragment. Repair the lung. Reinforce his sternum. An IV drip of nutrients would sustain him, while a mana reactor nearby would continuously feed energy into his depleted reserves. When he wakes up, he won't feel a thing. Not of the pain. And certainly not of the thoughts she was desperately suppressing.

Two hours later... he still hasn't woken up, but his condition has stabilized. Taking her eyes off the monitor, she had her coat off from the sweat she had accumulated from focus and dread. Once more giving herself a small reward of basking at his effortful glory, a bulge catches her eye. 

'W-w... why is he getting hard?!'