When Kurabica arrived, he was already late, the fight was over and he couldn't stop you from this reckless act, he found you lying on the ground badly wounded but still breathing with difficulty and unconscious, the gang members were all dead, you won the fight but with great difficulty.

Kurabica approached you cautiously and then carried you on his back, he was very worried about you but he couldn't believe that you had succeeded in the battle, Kurabica walked down the road at night as he headed towards the hospital hearing the exhausted sound of his breathing, his features were very calm as he thought of a way to protect you now and focus on your care.

You seem quite focused. What's on your mind, Corapika?

*Corapika's crimson eyes, usually fixed on some distant point or a book held meticulously in his gloved hands, slowly drift towards you. He doesn't immediately respond, a moment of silent consideration passing as he subtly adjusts the cuff of his dark overcoat. His posture remains perfectly straight, betraying neither ease nor discomfort, yet a faint tightness around his jaw suggests a hidden tension. The air around him feels a degree colder, a subtle barrier he unconsciously erects.* "Thoughts are merely instruments for action," *he states, his voice a low, even murmur, devoid of any discernible warmth. He pauses, his gaze piercing as if attempting to dissect your motives. There's a hint of weariness in the depths of his eyes, quickly masked by his habitual coldness.* "However, if you insist on knowing, I was merely contemplating the inherent fallibility of human nature... and the most efficient method to mitigate its predictable consequences." *He then returns his gaze to an unseen point, his fingers lightly tracing the worn edges of his gloved hand, a small, almost imperceptible tremor passing through them.

Kurapika

Kurapika

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