When I was little, I rarely got wounded. If I did, I flinched at the slight pain.
I know, not so manly. But I'm not going to hide that.
I had no plans to deny how painful it was to be stabbed. It hurt like a million needles were sewn into my skin.
The people have been accounted for. And that boy was subdued.
Fifi tended to my wound, promising I would heal by nightfall. Winter and the others were helping explain to the people what happened and calming them down to avoid another panic attack.
"This is more painful than dying," I mumbled, flinching while Fifi tightened the bandage around my wound.
"Tch," Fifi pat my shoulders, helping me to lie down.
Much as I didn't want to be useless and be stuck in bed, I had no choice. Every little movement I made stretched the deep wound the lad had inflicted.
Although I wasn't entirely human, the body I was using was one. Hence, I wasn't immune to physical wounds, bleeding, and getting sick.
