Gurvi stood in front of the sink, his hands trembling slightly as the crimson water swirled down the drain. His knuckles were raw, his forearms a mess of bruises and cuts. He ran cold water over them, hissing at the sting, then splashed some on his face, hoping to clear the pounding in his head.

His reflection stared back at him in the mirror—tired eyes, a blood-stained shirt, and a jaw clenched so tight it ached. He exhaled slowly, gripping the sink.

Who the hell planned this?

Someone wanted Marinette's night ruined. Someone knew exactly what they were doing, targeting him when she was at her most vulnerable. He thought back to the men—organized, waiting for him in the alley. This wasn't a random mugging.

His mind raced through possibilities. He had enemies, sure. But this wasn't about him. This was about her.

Chloe.

His grip on the sink tightened. That girl had always hated Marinette, always schemed against her. Could she have gone this far? But then…

Nathaniel.

Gurvi straightened, his eyes darkening. He'd noticed Nathaniel's growing resentment, the way he looked at Marinette when she was with him, the way his fists clenched whenever she smiled at Gurvi. And Chloe had been whispering in his ear for days.

A bitter chuckle left his lips. So that's how it is.

He shook his head, turning off the tap. He didn't have time for this now. Marinette's competition was still happening, and he had to be there. He had fought his way here—literally—just to make sure her dream didn't get crushed tonight.

Rolling down his sleeves to hide the worst of the damage, he straightened up. His body ached, his arms throbbed, but he had no intention of stopping now.

This wasn't over.

Marinette stood backstage, her heart pounding as her dress was finally presented on stage. The model wearing it carried the design with grace, the fabric flowing effortlessly under the bright lights. Every stitch, every detail—she had poured her soul into it.

The judges murmured amongst themselves, writing notes as they observed the dress from different angles. Some nodded in approval, others whispered, but it was the man at the center of the panel who caught Marinette's attention the most—Gabriel Agreste.

Unlike the other judges, he wasn't just looking at the craftsmanship; he was analyzing it. His eyes traced the seams, the structure, the way the design balanced complexity with elegance.

Adrien, standing nearby, noticed his father's reaction. Gabriel was intrigued. This wasn't just another student's attempt at fashion—this was something else entirely. He hadn't expected to see such refined work in a so-called amateur-level competition.

Marinette clenched her hands together, her nerves eating away at her. But she didn't dare look away.

This was her moment.

Gabriel Agreste rarely showed interest in amateur work, yet here he was, standing up from his seat, walking towards Marinette's dress. The murmurs in the hall quieted as the other judges turned to him, curious about what had caught his attention.

He reached out, his gloved fingers lightly grazing the fabric. He pressed it between his fingers, feeling its texture, the structure, the weight. There was something about it—something precise, intentional. His eyes flickered with recognition, though his expression remained unreadable.

Then, to everyone's surprise, he let out a small chuckle. It was brief, barely audible, but it was there.

He turned away without a word, walking back to his seat as if he had confirmed something for himself. The other judges exchanged glances before continuing their discussion, but Marinette stood frozen backstage, her breath caught in her throat.

What did that mean?

Marinette gripped the fabric of her dress, her knuckles turning white as the announcer read out the results.

"10th place… 9th place… 8th place…"

With each name that wasn't hers, her heart pounded harder. Adrien stood beside her, offering a reassuring smile, while Gurvi, despite the pain coursing through his arms, kept his gaze fixed on the stage, silently rooting for her.

"6th place… 5th place…"

Marinette exhaled sharply. I made it this far… but that's it, right?

The announcer paused dramatically before continuing.

"And in 4th place… Marinette Dupain-Cheng!"

Her breath hitched. Fourth?

Adrien cheered, nudging her shoulder. "You did it, Marinette! Top five!"

Gurvi simply smirked, his voice low but firm. "Told you. Strategy wins battles."

Marinette blinked, processing the moment. She hadn't won first, but she had stood out. Among so many competitors, she had proven herself. And judging by Gabriel Agreste's unexpected reaction, maybe… maybe this was just the beginning.

Marinette stood on the stage as the medal was placed around her neck, the lights bright and the applause loud. But amidst the crowd, she searched for one person—him.

Her eyes scanned the sea of faces until she caught sight of a familiar silhouette near the entrance. He stood there, away from the crowd, his frame dark against the bright lights. His arms hung stiffly at his sides, no doubt aching from whatever he had been through, but his hands came together in a slow, steady clap.

Her heart clenched. He was cheering for her.

Despite everything. Despite his pain.

A smile broke across her face, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of her medal. This wasn't just her victory. It was theirs.

After the competition ended, Marinette was still overwhelmed with emotions—excitement, relief, and a lingering curiosity about Gurvinder's condition. But before she could even step off the stage, a deep voice called her name.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

She turned around and found herself face to face with Gabriel Agreste. The man who barely acknowledged amateur designers, let alone praised them, stood before her with his usual composed expression.

"You did well," he said, his eyes scanning her dress one more time. "Your craftsmanship and design choices were impressive. However—" he adjusted his gloves before continuing, "you only placed fourth because you failed to submit the mandatory fashion collection. If you had, things might have been different."

Marinette blinked in shock. He was actually giving her feedback? Her? She swallowed, nodding quickly. "I—I understand. Thank you, sir."

Gabriel gave a small nod before turning away, leaving Marinette standing there, her mind racing. Was that… respect? From Gabriel Agreste?

She barely had time to process it before she remembered—Gurvi. She needed to find him.

Marinette hurried backstage, expecting to see Gurvinder waiting for her with his usual witty remarks, but he was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank. He had been there—she saw him cheering for her. So where did he go?

She scanned the area, checking every corner, but there was no sign of him. Frustration built up in her chest. He wouldn't just leave without saying anything, right?

Meanwhile, Adrien stood nearby, watching her with guilt gnawing at him. He knew where Gurvi was—or at least what had happened to him. But he had promised to keep it a secret. Still, seeing Marinette so worried, so desperate to find him, made it harder to stay quiet.

"Adrien," she turned to him, her blue eyes full of concern. "Have you seen Gurvi?"

He hesitated, gripping the strap of his bag tightly. "He… uh—" He bit his lip. "Maybe he just went home early?"

Marinette frowned. "Without telling me?" That didn't sound like him.

Adrien forced a small smile. "You know how he is. He probably thought you'd be busy celebrating."

She didn't look convinced. Something felt off. Deep down, she knew something was wrong.

Marinette paced back and forth, her phone pressed tightly against her ear, waiting—hoping—for Gurvinder to pick up. But the call rang and rang before going to voicemail.

Her stomach twisted in anxiety. Why wasn't he answering?

Then, as she stood near the exit, she overheard whispers among the lingering crowd.

"Did you hear about the fight near the hotel?" one man murmured to another.

"Yeah, twelve guys got wrecked. Someone said they were armed, but still got taken down."

"I saw the guy who did it," another voice chimed in. "A turbaned man—he was all bloodied and bruised when he walked in."

Marinette froze. Her breath hitched.

A turbaned man… bloodied and bruised…

Her heart pounded as the realization hit her like a freight train.

Gurvinder.

Without a second thought, she spun around and ran.

Adrien saw the panic in her eyes, the way her breath quickened as she bolted toward the exit. Without hesitation, he ran after her.

"Marinette, wait!" he called, catching up to her just as she reached the hotel doors. He grabbed her wrist gently, forcing her to stop for a moment. "Please—calm down!"

"Calm down?" she snapped, her voice shaking. "Gurvinder was the one who fought those men, wasn't he? He was covered in blood, Adrien!"

Adrien hesitated, guilt weighing heavy on his chest. He had promised Gurvi not to tell her, but now, seeing her like this… how could he keep it from her?

"He—he didn't want you to know," Adrien admitted softly. "He just wanted you to have your moment tonight. He didn't want to worry you, Marinette."

Tears burned in her eyes. "Worry me? He fought twelve armed men alone just to make sure I had my dress! How could I not worry about him?!"

Adrien squeezed her shoulder, trying to keep her from spiraling further. "I know. And I know Gurvi—he won't let you see him like this. He'd rather hide his pain than let you feel guilty about it. But, Mari… he needs you right now. Even if he won't admit it."

Marinette swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Where is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adrien sighed. "I think I know where he might be."

As they hurried toward her home, Marinette's mind raced. She clutched her phone tightly, her fingers trembling.

That dummy… that absolute idiot…

He had done it again. Put himself in danger. Taken on pain that wasn't his to bear. All for her.

Adrien walked beside her, silent but alert, glancing at her every so often. He could see the storm in her eyes—the mix of anger, fear, and something deeper.

She wasn't just scared for him.

She was furious.

She had been there for all his bruises, for every time he limped into the bakery acting like nothing happened. But this… this was worse.

"Twelve armed men, Adrien," she muttered under her breath. "He fought twelve men alone. What if he—"

She couldn't even finish that sentence.

Adrien sighed. "I know, Mari. But he did it for you. And knowing Gurvi… he'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"That's the problem," she snapped, quickening her pace. "He keeps doing this. He keeps putting himself last. And I—" Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to stay strong. "I can't lose him."

Adrien didn't reply. He just nodded, letting her vent.

As they reached the bakery, Marinette didn't even hesitate. She pushed open the door and rushed inside, her heart pounding.

Where are you, Gurvinder?

Marinette froze at the doorway.

There he was. Sitting in the living room, his arms bruised and bandaged, his shirt freshly changed but still clinging to his battered frame. Sabine was gently dabbing a cloth over a cut near his temple while Tom stood nearby, his face a mix of concern and admiration.

Her world shook.

All the whispers she heard, all the fears that clawed at her chest on the way home—they were true.

Her fists clenched at her sides as she sucked in a shaky breath, ready to yell, to scold, to demand why he did something so reckless—

But before she could even speak, Gurvi turned his head, his usual smirk playing at his lips despite everything.

"You should see the other guys."

Marinette's jaw nearly dropped.

That dummy. That absolute idiot.

Her eyes burned, and without thinking, she stormed toward him, her emotions crashing over her like a tidal wave.

She stormed towards him, her heart pounding in her chest. Before Gurvinder could react, she raised her hands and started slapping him—not hard, not enough to actually hurt, but enough to make her frustration clear.

"You idiot! You reckless, stupid idiot!" she yelled, her voice trembling. Each slap was weak, powerless, landing more like desperate pats against his bruised arms and chest. "Why do you keep doing this?! Why do you keep putting yourself through this for me?!"

Gurvi just sat there, letting her hit him, his smirk fading into something softer. He didn't flinch, didn't stop her, just watched as her eyes filled with angry tears.

"You dummy!" she sniffled, her voice cracking. "You could've died! You could've been—been seriously hurt and for what?! For me to win some stupid competition?! I don't care about that if it means losing you!"

Her hands finally stopped, trembling against his chest. She clenched his shirt in her fists, pressing her forehead against it as her body shook with emotion.

Gurvi exhaled, his voice quiet. "I care."

Marinette stiffened.

He lifted a hand—slowly, carefully, as if afraid she'd push him away—and placed it on top of her head. "I care, Marinette," he repeated, his voice raw. "Because you fought for me. Let me fight for you too."

Gurvinder gently rested his hand on her head, his bruised fingers tangling lightly in her hair as he sighed. "Marinette… your future is something worth fighting for."

She pulled back slightly, her tear-filled blue eyes searching his. "But not like this, Gurvi. Not at the cost of your own life."

He let out a weak chuckle, wincing slightly from the pain. "You don't get it, do you?" He tilted his head, his dark eyes burning with quiet determination. "I've been fighting my whole life just to survive. Just to make it to the next day. But this? You? This was the first time I fought for something that actually mattered."

Marinette shook her head, her grip on his shirt tightening. "Gurvinder, you matter."

"And so do you," he countered, his voice firmer now. "You've spent so much time worrying about me, fighting for me, pushing yourself aside. But you have a dream, Marinette. A future waiting for you. I know what it feels like to have that taken away. I won't let anyone take that from you."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but her lips trembled into a soft, broken smile. "You absolute dummy…"

He grinned faintly, his wit still lingering despite his exhaustion. "That's Champion Dummy to you."

Marinette let out a shaky laugh, wiping her tears. "You're impossible."

"And you're worth it," he said, his voice so full of quiet certainty that her breath caught in her throat.

Tom and Sabine watched the two of them, their expressions a mix of concern, warmth, and understanding. Sabine folded her arms, shaking her head with a sigh. "You two are impossible," she muttered, though the fondness in her voice was unmistakable.

Tom chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know whether to scold you, Gurvinder, or thank you."

Gurvi gave a small smirk, despite the pain that still throbbed through his body. "I'll take a free pastry as a 'thank you' instead."

Sabine let out an exasperated breath, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. Marinette, however, was still fuming. "This isn't funny!" she snapped. "You nearly—"

Before she could finish, Tom stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Marinette." His deep voice was calm but firm, and she looked up at him. He smiled knowingly. "He did this because he cares about you. And from the way you're acting right now… I think you care about him just as much."

Marinette froze for a moment, her heart pounding. Gurvinder, despite all the pain he was in, still met her eyes with that same determined gaze.

Sabine softened. "That doesn't mean we approve of you putting yourself in danger, young man," she said, looking at Gurvi with motherly sternness. "But it does mean… you're family now."

Gurvinder blinked, his breath hitching just slightly. Family. That word felt foreign—almost unreachable. But here it was, being handed to him so easily. So warmly.

Marinette, noticing the way he stiffened, grabbed his bruised hand and squeezed it. "Did you hear that, dummy?" she whispered, a teasing smile through her tears. "You're stuck with us now."

Gurvi swallowed, his throat tightening. He glanced at Tom and Sabine, then at Marinette. And for the first time in his life, he felt something he never thought he'd deserve.

Home.

Tom's smile faded as he crossed his arms, his expression turning stern. "But that doesn't mean you're off the hook, Gurvinder."

Gurvi sighed, already bracing himself. "Yeah… I figured."

Tom's brows furrowed. "What exactly happened? And don't you dare downplay it."

Sabine nodded in agreement. "We heard rumors, but we want the truth."

Gurvi shifted in his seat, glancing at Marinette, then back at them. He knew there was no point in lying. "Some guys were waiting for me just before I reached the hotel. Armed. Tried to jump me."

Marinette inhaled sharply. "Tried?"

Gurvi smirked a little. "Yeah… let's just say they won't be trying anything again for a while."

Tom ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply. "You fought twelve armed men? Gurvinder, that's reckless beyond words!"

Sabine's voice was more worried than angry. "Why didn't you just run?"

Gurvi looked at Marinette before answering. "Because I didn't have time. Mari's dress was in my hands. If I ran and they got it… her entire competition, her future—everything she worked for—would've been ruined."

Tom stared at him, processing his words. Then, without warning, he walked over and lightly smacked Gurvi on the back of his head—not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to make a point.

"Ow! What was that for?" Gurvi frowned.

"For being an idiot." Tom sighed. "A brave idiot. But an idiot nonetheless."

Marinette, despite everything, let out a weak laugh. Sabine shook her head. "We appreciate what you did, Gurvinder. But next time… find a way that doesn't involve nearly getting yourself killed."

Gurvi chuckled, wincing as the movement sent pain through his ribs. "No promises."

Marinette glared at him, grabbing his arm—not too roughly this time. "You're impossible."

Tom sighed again, then ruffled Gurvi's hair lightly. "Just… be careful, son."

Gurvi's eyes widened slightly at the word. Tom didn't seem to notice what he had just called him, but Sabine smiled softly, and Marinette squeezed his hand.

For a moment, Gurvi forgot about the pain. Because even after all the blood and bruises, for the first time in his life… someone was actually worried about him.

As the adrenaline drained from his body, the full weight of his injuries hit him like a truck. Gurvinder let out a low groan, his head falling back against the couch as Tom tightened the last bandage around his bruised forearm.

"Finally feeling it now, huh?" Tom muttered, shaking his head.

Gurvi huffed through his nose. "Yeah, yeah… kinda hard to ignore when it feels like my bones are made of lead." He flexed his fingers, but his arms barely responded. The numbing pain had turned into a deep, throbbing ache, making every little movement feel like a battle.

Marinette sat beside him, worry etched deep into her features. She reached out but hesitated, unsure where to touch him without causing more pain. "You should be in bed, not sitting here cracking jokes."

Gurvi turned his head slightly to her, smirking despite himself. "And miss you scolding me? No way."

She puffed her cheeks in frustration but didn't argue. Instead, she grabbed a soft pillow and carefully placed it under his arm. He exhaled at the small relief.

Sabine came back with a cup of warm tea. "This should help a little," she said gently, handing it to Marinette, who helped bring it to Gurvi's lips.

He took a sip and sighed. "Alright… maybe I'll admit I should've gone a little easier on myself."

Tom crossed his arms. "A little?"

Gurvi chuckled but immediately regretted it as a sharp sting shot through his ribs. "Okay, okay… a lot."

Marinette shook her head, but she was smiling now. "Idiot."

He grinned, leaning his head against the couch, eyes half-lidded. "Your idiot."

Her cheeks warmed, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she rested her head lightly against his good shoulder, careful not to hurt him.

As the warmth of the tea settled in his stomach and the exhaustion began pulling him under, Gurvinder finally let himself relax. The pain was still there, but for the first time in a long time… he didn't feel it alone.

As they reached Marinette's room, Gurvi let out a deep groan, his arms throbbing with sharp, relentless pain. The numbness had faded, replaced by a dull, burning ache spreading through his muscles. He barely managed to sit down on her bed, his breathing uneven.

Marinette immediately crouched in front of him, her hands hovering, unsure where to touch without making it worse. "Gurvi... does it hurt that much?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes for a second. "Yeah… but it's fine," he muttered. "I've had worse."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "That doesn't make it okay!" she snapped, frustration mixing with her concern.

Gurvi cracked one eye open, giving her a tired smirk. "But I survived, didn't I?"

She huffed, but instead of arguing, she stood up and carefully grabbed his bandaged hands. His fingers twitched at her touch, but he didn't pull away. She brought them close to her chest, holding them gently as if that alone could take the pain away.

"You're not invincible, Gurvi," she whispered. "You don't have to keep proving that you can take the pain."

For a moment, he just stared at her—her eyes filled with worry, her touch impossibly soft against his bruised skin. He sighed, leaning slightly against her. "I know…" he admitted quietly.

She frowned. "Then stop acting like it," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his.

For the first time since the fight, Gurvi let his guard down completely. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel her warmth, her presence—the one thing that made all the pain worth it.