Wednesday afternoon.
The administrative building was much quieter than the training zone.
The corridor was long.
The floor was clean.
The lighting steady.
Almost no students came here.
Seven stood at the end of the hallway.
In front of him was a meeting room door.
Frosted glass.
Faint silhouettes inside.
The meeting wasn't over yet.
He had only been passing by.
Originally, he intended to leave.
But voices from inside carried through.
Not loud.
But clear enough.
"…recovery rate is stable."
A man's voice. Calm.
"It maintains regeneration even under continuous damage."
Another voice.
"That means the cycle is viable."
A brief silence.
Then someone spoke.
"I disagree."
Slightly lower tone.
"Continuing like this will only increase the burden."
The room went quiet for a second.
A light tap on the table.
"The burden isn't the problem."
"As long as the system holds."
Seven stood outside.
Didn't move.
He had no intention of listening.
But the voices reached him anyway.
"The problem now isn't the data."
The opposing voice again.
"It's the person."
"Her mental state is declining."
The sound of papers flipping.
Soft friction.
A faint sigh.
"The decline is still within control."
"It will return to baseline after recovery."
"That's what the model predicts."
Another voice.
"Models can be wrong."
No response.
After a few seconds—
a calm voice:
"We are discussing system operation."
"Not personal emotion."
Silence again.
Seven heard chairs shift.
Someone stood up.
"That's exactly the problem."
"You're treating her as part of the system."
"But she's not a device."
No immediate answer.
After a moment—
"She has already proven her value."
"If we stop now…"
"Everything before will lose meaning."
—
Outside the door,
Seven's expression didn't change.
He simply stood there.
The voices continued.
"Then we proceed?"
"Proceed."
"Maintain current process."
"Retraining and retesting as usual."
"Record data."
The opposing voice spoke one last time.
"This will cause problems sooner or later."
No reply.
Chairs settled back.
The meeting seemed to end.
Seven turned and left.
The corridor returned to silence.
He didn't stop again.
—
Training zone.
Afternoon session had just ended.
The facility was still open.
Some students continued self-training.
Faint energy fluctuations lingered in the air.
Light traces marked the ground.
Ros sat on a bench.
A fresh bandage wrapped around her wrist.
She looked down at her hand.
The wound had already healed.
Smooth skin.
As if nothing had happened.
But she knew—
just hours ago,
it had split open.
Seven walked in.
Saw her.
Ros looked up.
Smiled.
"Finished training?"
she asked.
Seven nodded.
"And you?"
Ros shrugged.
"Recovery test."
She raised her hand.
Moved her fingers lightly.
Perfectly normal.
Like an ordinary person.
"How was it?"
Seven asked.
Ros thought for a moment.
"They seemed satisfied."
She smiled.
Light.
As if it were nothing important.
Seven looked at her.
Said nothing.
—
On the other side of the training zone,
several researchers organized records.
Data refreshed continuously on screens.
Recovery time.
Damage level.
Stability index.
Numbers shifted constantly.
The system ran smoothly.
At least on the surface.
—
Ros stood up from the bench.
"I need to go back for retraining."
she said.
Seven replied,
"Go to the infirmary after."
She nodded.
—
Evening.
The training zone gradually quieted.
The final group finished testing.
Researchers shut down part of the equipment.
Lights dimmed slightly.
Ros left the training area.
The corridor was quiet.
Her footsteps echoed softly.
She glanced at her wrist.
The bandage was clean.
No blood.
But beneath the skin—
a faint lingering sting.
Like the nerves hadn't fully recovered.
She didn't stop.
Kept walking.
—
A few minutes later,
Ros stood at the infirmary door.
Half open.
Soft light inside.
Familiar herbal scent.
She knocked gently.
"Come in."
Elena's voice.
Ros pushed the door open.
—
The infirmary was quiet.
Small plants by the window.
The desk was neatly arranged.
Medicine cabinets lined the wall.
The air carried both tea aroma and disinfectant.
Elena was organizing medicine.
She looked up.
"Recovery test done?"
Ros nodded.
"Just finished."
She sat down.
Elena walked to the table.
A small tray was placed there.
A teapot.
A few pieces of pastry.
She poured a cup of tea.
Pushed it toward Ros.
"Sit for a while first."
Ros looked at the tea.
Smiled lightly.
"Thanks."
She picked up the cup.
Took a sip.
Warm.
Slightly sweet.
Her shoulders slowly relaxed.
—
Elena sat across from her.
Opened the record board.
Glanced at today's data.
"Recovery speed is good," she said.
"Faster than last week."
Ros took a bite of pastry.
Nodded.
"That's what they said too."
Elena stayed quiet for a moment.
Then asked,
"How does your body feel?"
Ros thought.
"Not bad."
She moved her fingers.
Natural motion.
"Just a bit tired."
Elena wrote it down.
Then looked up.
Her tone calm.
"Has pressure been high lately?"
Ros paused.
Then smiled.
"Probably normal."
She took another sip of tea.
The room stayed quiet.
Outside, the light dimmed.
—
Elena watched her.
Thinking.
After a while—
she spoke again.
"Let me ask differently."
Ros looked up.
"What?"
Elena said,
"What do you think of Seven?"
Ros froze slightly.
Didn't answer immediately.
The cup in her hand paused.
"Why ask that suddenly?"
Elena sounded casual.
"Just curious."
"You've been together a lot lately."
Ros thought for a bit.
Then shrugged lightly.
"He's quiet," she said.
"And reliable."
Elena kept watching her.
"Just that?"
Ros considered.
"One more thing."
"He doesn't ask too many questions."
She lowered her gaze to the tea.
"Sometimes that makes things easier."
Silence filled the room again.
—
Elena asked one more question.
Still calm.
"Have you considered another possibility?"
Ros looked up.
"What possibility?"
Elena met her eyes.
"Liking him."
Ros didn't answer.
She went quiet.
As if thinking about the word.
"Liking…"
she repeated softly.
Elena nodded.
"Or more directly—"
"Love."
Ros frowned slightly.
She looked at the tea again.
Thinking seriously.
After a long pause—
"I don't know."
she said quietly.
"I just feel…"
She hesitated.
"When I'm with him…"
"things become simpler."
Elena didn't interrupt.
Just listened.
Ros continued,
"He doesn't try to analyze me."
"And doesn't treat me like data."
She smiled faintly.
"So I'm used to him being around."
—
The infirmary fell silent again.
Outside, night had already come.
Elena didn't ask further.
She just nodded.
—
Ros finished the last pastry.
Finished her tea.
The room remained quiet.
As if nothing had happened.
But some questions—
had already been asked.
And some answers—
had yet to appear.
—
Outside the infirmary,
the corridor was silent.
Light fell evenly from the ceiling.
The floor reflected a faint cold tone.
The door wasn't fully closed.
Light spilled through the gap.
Seven stood on the other side of the corridor.
Not near the door.
Not intending to enter.
The infirmary door was always half-open.
A fixed habit.
Anyone could enter when needed.
The air was still.
Only the ventilation system hummed softly.
Seven glanced at the door.
Only briefly.
Then looked away.
He didn't try to listen.
Didn't need to.
The existence of the infirmary was enough.
As long as Ros came here after training—
as long as someone spoke to her—
as long as she could stop,
sit,
drink something—
that was enough.
—
Seven understood one thing clearly.
The burden of recovery ability
was not only physical.
The real danger lay elsewhere—
the constant pressure on the mind.
When the body is injured again and again,
and keeps recovering,
pain becomes normal.
If there is no place to stop,
no time to buffer—
the ability begins to destabilize.
Once it crosses a threshold,
recovery reverses.
Enters a runaway state.
People call it—
berserk.
Seven had seen it once.
Long ago.
It didn't last long.
But it was enough.
—
Since then,
whenever training intensity increased,
the infirmary became essential.
Not to treat wounds—
but to make people stop.
—
Seven stood in the corridor.
Didn't look at the door again.
Didn't approach.
He was only confirming one thing.
Ros had entered.
The door remained open.
The light was on.
Inside—
quiet.
No hurried footsteps.
No objects knocked over.
No sudden energy surge.
The air was stable.
Nothing abnormal.
That was enough.
—
Seven waited a few minutes.
Not long.
Just confirmation.
Then he stepped away from the wall.
His footsteps were light.
He didn't look back.
Didn't stop.
The corridor stretched ahead.
Lights extending segment by segment.
His figure soon disappeared around the corner.
—
The infirmary door remained half-open.
Light steady.
Air quiet.
After training,
this place would always be here.