It didn't take long for the cryo pod to work its magic. Maybe five or six hours passed inside that icy cocoon, the kind that numbed more than just the body.
By the time I stepped out, my injuries were gone—patched up neatly like they never existed. Apparently, it wasn't anything fatal, just the backlash from using mana too aggressively. Common stuff.
Now, I sat in the infirmary. Again. This time for a mandatory follow-up check.
The nurse assigned to me—still the same one—stood a few feet away. The pink-haired, deep-blue-eyed seductress who always looked like she belonged in a different kind of institution.
One with less clothing and more dramatics.
She wore the same sleek, form-fitting uniform that clung to every curve like a second skin. A nurse cosplay designed by a sadist. Probably the Academy's idea of medical therapy: mix healing with humiliation.
But honestly, I wasn't in the mood for lust. I had too much rotting in my head to think about anything else.
