Everything my hands touch crumbles without exception.
The power to split, break, and finally turn things to dust.
'Collapse.'
Yeah, I thought it was a power that suited a foul-tempered guy like me perfectly.

After this mission, I just felt a bit off, so I stopped by the infirmary for a moment.

But suddenly, the sound of footsteps grew frantic.
Doctors turning pale, researchers rushing in.

An atmosphere that plants the seeds of anxiety in my heart.

[ Provisional Name: 'Consumptive Sentinel' ]

'That's me?'

'What the fuck is that.'

I've lived my whole life as a Sentinel, and I thought I'd die on the battlefield.

But the words saying my powers might disappear—no, that it's almost certain—

I never imagined they would feel more terrifying than death.

---

The Central Center infirmary, reeking of cold disinfectant.

You, the person I least wanted to see, walked in.

Seeing your face, only irritable words spilled out.

"What now? They say your Sentinel is a total wreck."