The room felt smaller.
Not because the walls had moved, but because my focus narrowed to one spot—deep inside Miriam's chest, where the last anchor gripped her heart like a parasite sensing its end.
It pulsed with her heartbeat.
Slow. Heavy. Defensive.
I sensed its purpose now. Not intelligence, but instinct. Survival. The corruption had lost two-thirds of itself, and it had pulled inward, wrapping tighter around the most vital organ it could reach.
If I failed here, everything we'd done would unravel.
I swallowed and forced my shaking hands to steady.
"Miriam," I said quietly. "This is the last one. Once we start, I can't pull away. If I lose focus, the backlash could—"
"Kill me?" she finished calmly.
"…Yes."
She didn't flinch.
"Then don't lose focus," she said. "I'm still here."
Her calmness, even now, was remarkable. Pain had stripped away pretenses, revealing something honest and unyielding. Not bravado. Acceptance.
I shifted closer to the bed, adjusting my position so I could maintain contact. The magic dimmed a bit as I moved, then stabilized when my palm rested against her upper chest, just above her heart.
The warmth surged in response—stronger than before.
[Patient Receptiveness: 61%]
[Healing Output: High]
The heart anchor reacted violently.
A spike of pressure hit my senses, sharp enough to blur my vision. Miriam gasped, her back arching slightly as pain rippled through her body.
"Pressure—" she hissed. "It's tightening."
"I know," I said, teeth clenched. "It's trying to shut down sensation. Don't let it."
"How?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Focus on me," I said immediately. "On what you're feeling now. On the warmth."
I leaned closer, my free hand cradling her shoulder for more contact. The glow brightened, spreading across her chest like liquid light.
Her breathing quickened.
"I can feel your hand," she said. "It's… grounding."
"Good," I murmured. "Stay with that."
The system chimed again, almost intrusive.
[Warning: Heart Anchor Stability High]
[Recommendation: Maximum Pleasure Trigger Required]
I ignored it.
Not because it was wrong—but because reducing this to numbers felt risky. This wasn't just a trigger. It was a moment that needed trust more than anything before.
"Miriam," I said softly. "I need you to let go completely. If you hold back—out of fear, dignity, anything—the anchor will take advantage."
Her eyes met mine.
"I've spent most of my life in control," she said quietly. "Teaching. Researching. Managing expectations. Even now, part of me wants to stay composed."
I nodded. "I can feel that."
She let out a slow breath. "Then tell me what to do."
The honesty in her voice made my chest tighten.
"Let yourself feel," I said. "Not as a professor. Not as someone being healed. Just as a person who wants to live."
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
"Alright," she whispered. "Guide me."
I shifted my hand, changing the angle of contact, letting the warmth flow more directly. The glow intensified, and with it came sensation—deeper, sharper, undeniably intimate.
Her breath caught, a soft sound escaping her throat before she could stop it.
[Patient Receptiveness: 68%]
The heart anchor screamed in response, unleashing a surge of pain that made her cry out, body tensing.
"Don't pull away," I said firmly, instinct taking over. "It's trying to scare you."
"I know," she gasped. "I know—just—stay with me."
"I'm here," I said. "I'm not going anywhere."
I leaned closer, lowering my voice to anchor her focus. "Breathe with me. In… and out."
She followed my rhythm, her breaths syncing with mine. With each exhale, the tension in her body eased just a bit.
The magic responded immediately.
[Patient Receptiveness: 74%]
[Healing Output: Very High]
The glow filled the room now, reflecting off the walls, casting soft shadows. The corruption around her heart writhed, losing its form as it struggled to hold on.
"It feels…" she murmured, voice unsteady. "Intense. Like everything is converging."
"That's the buildup," I said. "You're close."
The words weren't calculated. They were observations. The diagnostic sense painted a clear picture in my mind—her mana channels opening, vitality surging, the anchor's defenses cracking under pressure.
But not breaking.
Not yet.
I needed one final push.
"Miriam," I said gently. "It's okay to stop holding yourself together."
Her eyes squeezed shut.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then her composure shattered.
A quiet sound slipped past her lips—raw, unfiltered. Her body reacted instinctively, arching slightly as sensation peaked, overwhelming pain, fear, and restraint alike.
The warmth in my palms erupted outward.
[Patient Receptiveness: 89%]
The heart anchor stumbled, its structure collapsing like a burned web.
But it still held on.
"Not enough," I muttered, panic surging through me. "It's still holding."
Miriam's breathing was ragged now, her body trembling. She looked at me through half-closed eyes.
"Then don't stop," she said, voice shaking but determined. "Finish it."
I didn't hesitate.
I leaned in closer, maintaining contact, strengthening the connection instead of letting it fade. The glow surged again, brighter than before, fueled by trust, vulnerability, and the will to survive.
[Patient Receptiveness: 94%]
The anchor screamed.
Not in resistance—but in fear.
I felt the moment it lost cohesion. The pressure snapped, releasing in a burst of dark mana that evaporated instantly under the flood of healing light.
[Anchor Destroyed: 3/3]
[Status: CORRUPTION PURGED]
[Healing Output: Maximum]
Miriam cried out, her body tensing once—then relaxing completely as the backlash faded.
The glow peaked, then slowly receded, like a tide pulling back from shore.
Silence fell.
For a terrifying second, she didn't move.
Then her chest rose—steady. Strong.
Color returned to her skin. The sickly green veins faded, leaving warm, living flesh beneath.
I slumped forward, barely catching myself on the edge of the bed. My arms shook violently, exhaustion hitting me all at once.
"Miriam?" I croaked.
Her eyes opened.
Clear. Focused. Alive.
She took a deep breath—and laughed.
A real laugh. Breathless, disbelieving, joyful.
"It's gone," she whispered. "Theo… it's gone."
Relief washed over me so strongly that my vision blurred.
"You're stable," I said, checking instinctively, my diagnostic sense confirming what my eyes already told me. "Your mana flow is normal. No residual corruption."
She reached out, her hand warm now, gripping my wrist.
"You saved my life," she said softly.
I shook my head weakly. "We did."
The door opened.
Headmistress Valentina Cross stepped inside, eyes glowing faintly as she scanned the room.
She froze.
Then, slowly, she straightened.
"The corruption signature is gone," she said quietly. "Completely erased."
Her gaze shifted to me. "Do you know what you've just done?"
I swallowed. "I cured an incurable infection."
"Yes," she said. "And in doing so, you've made every healer in this academy obsolete in certain cases."
Miriam laughed again, gentler this time. "Try not to sound so pleased about that."
Valentina's lips curved faintly. "On the contrary. I'm very pleased."
She turned back to me.
"Mr. Ashford," she said, voice carrying weight, "your expulsion is officially overturned. Effective immediately, you are recognized as a certified medical asset of Rosevale Academy."
The words barely registered.
All I could think about was the woman on the bed—alive because I'd embraced a power the world wanted to destroy.
As the adrenaline faded, a quiet realization settled in.
This wasn't a one-time miracle.
This was the beginning.
And there would be consequences.