The Most Popular Wrist
In front of the bandages and potion bottles in Lia's infirmary, the soft clink of Seris's scabbard echoed lowly. Ronan sat in the chair, extending his wrist. On his right wrist hung the worn bandage that Lia had just unwound. On the left table, potion bottles stood in a neat row: blue glass vials, brown ointment jars, compression bandages. And a handful of sand from the Training Grounds. For the spoils of battle, it stung a little. But Ronan was smiling.
Mark's wooden sword had fallen into the sand, and Seris's had quietly followed. Ronan's name was etched once more into the Merit Ledger. All those sounds still murmured beyond the infirmary door.
"Don't move."
Lia said. Her voice was a touch lower than usual—warm, yet firm.
"You're the only one who says your wrist is fine."
Ronan obediently surrendered his wrist.
"So the patient's opinion is just for reference?"
"I do consider it." Lia folded the bandage. "I just don't believe it."
Seris didn't sit in the opposite chair. She stood with her scabbard propped up, arms lightly crossed.
"Afternoon practice after treatment."
"We haven't even started treatment yet." Lia shot back immediately. "Practice matters, but your wrist comes first."
"The sword hand is more important."
"That's why I'm looking at it right now."
Their words clashed. Not like clashing blades, but neither yielded. Ronan glanced between them and said gravely,
"Is my wrist the most popular item today, by any chance?"
Lia looked up. Seris eyed Ronan. He lifted his wrist slightly.
"At this rate, it needs a name tag."
Lia burst out laughing first. Seris's lips twitched ever so slightly. The air in the infirmary loosened by a beat.
The murmurs outside hadn't stopped.
"He really just flicked the hilt away."
"Seris dropped her sword too."
"It was a promised spar, right?"
Rumors slipped easily through the door crack. Voices that had mocked Ronan's team just yesterday now paused before mocking today. That pause rang louder.
Lia picked up a cotton swab. "It might sting a bit."
"It's fine."
"No saying 'it's fine.'"
"Then I'll pretend it hurts a little."
Lia tightened her grip on his wrist. It didn't hurt. But the warning was clear.
"No pretending either."
"Strict infirmary rules."
"They get stricter when patients don't listen."
"Noted, Lia."
The name dropped into the infirmary. Lia's fingertips paused for the briefest moment. The two cadets peeking at the door fell silent. Seris's eyebrow arched faintly. Only then did Ronan realize he'd used her name first.
Lia tried to resume bandaging as usual, but the end slipped once.
"...I said don't move."
"I didn't."
"Talking counts as moving."
Then rough footsteps approached from outside.
"Out of the way."
It was Kain, one of Mark's friends. He entered the infirmary, flashing a shallow cut on the back of his left hand. The bleeding had nearly stopped. Yet he raised his voice like a man with a severed arm.
"Healers. Check me first."
Lia looked up. "I'll see you in order. Please sit on the long bench over there."
"Order?"
Kain's gaze halted on Ronan's wrist.
"Why's the winner sitting first?"
The infirmary went quiet.
Kain sneered. "Son of a supply clerk knows procedure well? Gets his name on the ledger once and jumps the line here too."
An old taunt. Heard at the main gate. At the Training Grounds. In the dining hall. But now, anxiety laced it.
Ronan just smiled faintly. "Keeps coming up, so I guess academy life is all about the seats."
Kain didn't smile. "Not the time for jokes. This is for the injured. Not for show-offs from the sparring grounds to hog spots."
Lia spoke first. "Ronan's in treatment."
"What's hurt? No blood."
"His wrist is strained."
"You saw that?"
"I'm seeing it now."
Lia's voice cooled. Unlike at the gate, clutching her healer's bag in surprise. Now, she was drawing a line.
Kain eyed the change with displeasure. "Healers know how to pick lines now."
The infirmary froze. Lia's fingertips stiffened over Ronan's wrist. The bandage was only half-wound.
Ronan's gaze dropped to her hand. It didn't tremble. But it tensed.
Ronan spoke slowly. "Lia."
The name again. Lia met his eyes.
"Don't let go."
"...But."
"It's not your fault."
His voice wasn't loud. "And who lines up here? We can check right now."
Kain snorted. "Check?"
He stepped forward. His shoulder brushed the potion shelf. Tap. Small sound, but loud in the infirmary. A blue glass vial wobbled at the shelf's edge. A paralysis-relief potion from the Royal Knight Academy infirmary. Breaking it meant more trouble than the cost—accountability.
Kain's eyes flicked to it. Briefly. Then he froze. As if waiting for it to fall.
Lia's hand twitched reflexively. Ronan didn't pull his wrist away. Instead, he folded one finger. Inhaled.
A thin gleam appeared in the air. Too slender for a sword, too straight for a thread. The Phantom Sword's edge caught the falling vial.
No sound. No shatter. The blue liquid didn't ripple a drop.
The slender Phantom Sword lowered slowly, cradling the vial's base. It stopped just above Lia's hand. Her hand stayed unharmed. The bandage end didn't scatter.
Ronan, still offering his wrist to Lia, said, "See?"
The infirmary hushed. At the Training Grounds, a wooden sword's fall had made spectators swallow. Here, one unsmashed vial silenced them.
A quiet sword in daily life. But the result was sharper.
Kain stood rigid, hand wound extended. He wanted to say he hadn't touched it. But everyone saw. Shoulder to shelf. Lia nearly grabbing it, risking injury. Ronan blocking without withdrawing his wrist.
Ronan placed the vial back in the shelf's center. Click. Glass on wood rang like a judge's gavel.
A healing apprentice stepped to the shelf. He checked the blue vial's seal, then eyed Kain.
"No breakage, but shelf contact noted."
Kain's eyes widened. "What?"
"No roughhousing near infirmary supplies. Reported to Instructor Hagen."
Low murmurs spread outside. Kain clutched his shallow hand wound. It suddenly looked too small.
"Sit on the long bench." Lia said. Not soft this time. "I'll see you in order."
Kain couldn't retort. His seat creaked faintly.
Someone whispered very softly, "...That wasn't a slashing sword. It was a catching sword."
Ronan heard but pretended not. He liked it.
Lia finished the bandage. One wrap, two, three. Her touch slowed but grew firmer.
"Lia."
"What?"
"Your hand didn't get hurt just now, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
Lia paused. She secured the bandage end and murmured low,
"You ask about that before your own wrist?"
"I entrusted my wrist."
Ronan grinned. "I trust who I entrust it to."
Lia's eyes wavered. "Then entrust it more from now on."
"No plans to hurt it again."
"That's exactly the type who comes back often."
Lia tied the knot. "The overdoers."
Ronan started to argue, then stopped. He'd already lost.
Seris spoke then. "Treatment done?"
Lia pressed the knot with her fingertip. "Not yet."
"Bandage seems finished."
"Confirmation left."
Lia pulled out a white handkerchief. A small leaf was embroidered on the edge in blue thread. She wiped the herbal powder from Ronan's hand back.
The motion was careful. But open. Cadets outside watched. Seris watched.
Lia didn't hide. Ronan didn't withdraw.
"Is that handkerchief a treatment tool too?"
"From today."
"Does it go on record?"
"Problem if it does?"
"No."
Ronan, hand still entrusted, said, "Gives me a reason to return it later."
Lia's handkerchief paused. Seris's scabbard scraped the floor faintly.
Lia tried to school her face but failed. Her lips curved just a bit.
"Return it clean-washed."
"Does that mean entrusting it again?"
"Yes. It's my handkerchief."
Seris cleared her throat softly. "Not much time before afternoon practice."
Ronan sighed between them. "Getting one wrist treated is harder than I thought."
Lia said, "It's popular."
"Me?"
"The wrist."
This time, Seris smiled faintly too.
Ronan looked down at his bandaged wrist. No pain. Smoother motion, even. Strangely, the wrist that had endured alone looked a little less lonely.
Lia fell quiet a moment. Then folded the handkerchief and placed it on Ronan's left palm.
"Take it."
"Now?"
"Yeah. Gotta have it to return it clean."
The inner infirmary hushed. Seris's gaze sharpened distinctly. A tiny, soft claim.
Ronan didn't shake the handkerchief playfully. He folded it carefully and tucked it inside his uniform.
"I'll keep it safe."
Lia's shoulders eased ever so slightly.
Then Seris turned toward the door. "Library's not far. Let's check the practice records."
Lia glanced at Ronan's stride first. "Walk slow. Tell me if it really hurts."
Ronan smiled instead of answering.
At the corridor's end, above the black oak door, a sword-and-book crest was carved. And from inside came the thud of a falling book.