Charles stood at the medical area's reception, his black tunic dry and clean thanks to Nora's help.
Across from him, the receptionist, with a pin reading "Clara" on her lapel, eyed him with a mix of surprise and concern as she reviewed his file.
Charles scratched his neck, forcing a carefree smile.
"I wanna check out," he said, leaning on the counter. "I'm feeling fine, no reason to stick around."
Clara adjusted her glasses, scanning the report closely.
"Mr. Rian…" she said, polite but firm, "the doctor recommended at least two more weeks of observation. Your hands suffered severe damage, and though they seem functional now, any strain could delay recovery."
Charles shook his head, shrugging.
"I'll be back in two days, promise," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Probably. Got a duel tomorrow, you know? Can't just sit here twiddling my thumbs."
Clara's jaw dropped, eyes wide.
"A duel…?" she repeated, incredulous.
