Chiaki lay motionless on the plush sofa inside Dr. Hugo's mansion, her body still, her skin pale, and her breathing shallow. The storm raged outside, the rain tapping against the windows as Hugo prepared for the critical treatment. Stitch stood close by, her face taut with worry, while Shanya kept her eyes trained on Hugo, absorbing everything he said.
"The wound itself is lethal," Hugo said, his voice steady but serious. "A royal guard's slice to her neck. It severed vital arteries, and if untreated, she would have bled out in minutes. But there's something else working against her."
Stitch stepped forward, her voice tight as she spoke. "I used a toxin to keep her senses from realizing she was dying, to buy us time. It's the only way I could stop her from succumbing to the wound. But now... now it's a ticking time bomb. That same toxin is keeping her alive, but if we don't remove it soon, it'll kill her."
Hugo's gaze softened, understanding the gravity of the situation. He nodded, preparing a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "I can't imagine how much pressure you were under to use that toxin. But you're right; it's not a solution, just a delay. Now, I need to neutralize it. If we don't, it will poison her system—slowing her heart, shutting down her organs."
Stitch clenched her fists, her face tense. "So, what do we do?"
Hugo carefully checked Chiaki's neck, making sure he knew exactly where to administer the antidote. "The antidote will counteract the toxin, but it needs to be injected quickly, directly into her bloodstream. I'll need to act fast."
Dr. Hugo injected the antidote, the needle sliding into Chiaki's neck with a precision born of years of practice. As the antidote flowed into her veins, the room fell into a heavy silence. Stitch watched, her heart racing, as Hugo worked with swift focus, his brow furrowing as he monitored Chiaki's response.
The antidote would take a moment to start working, and Hugo spoke in a quiet but reassuring voice. "The poison is designed to shut down her body gradually, but with this antidote, we can stop that process. However, it's not without risks. The toxin's damage is already done—her body has been under siege, and if it's too late, her organs could be severely compromised."
Stitch let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and Shanya, standing silently beside her, spoke up, "How long do we have?"
Hugo looked grim but kept his composure. "It depends on how much damage the toxin has already done. I need to monitor her heart rate, her pulse. We won't know the full extent of the damage until she wakes up."
As the antidote began to take effect, Chiaki's breathing deepened slightly. It wasn't much, but it was a sign that the antidote was fighting the toxin, stopping it from spreading further. Stitch exhaled sharply in relief but knew the danger wasn't over. Her gaze never left Chiaki's face, watching closely for any further signs of improvement or deterioration.
"Her body will fight the poison now," Hugo said, watching the vitals carefully. "But the next few hours are critical. We can't risk leaving her unattended, not until we know that the antidote has fully taken effect."
Stitch nodded, her voice soft but steady. "We'll stay. We'll keep an eye on her."
Hugo gave a small nod of approval. "Good. I'll need to check on her every so often to make sure her body isn't rejecting the antidote. But for now, the worst is over. She's not out of danger yet, but we're headed in the right direction."
Stitch allowed herself to relax slightly, though her worry for Chiaki remained. The immediate threat had passed, but they still had a long road ahead. She took a step back, trusting Hugo's expertise and hoping that the antidote was enough to save her.
Desmond materialized behind Temoshí in a flash of light, his leg arcing with yellow energy as he swung it toward the back of Temoshí's head. But Temoshí's instincts kicked in just in time; he ducked, letting Desmond's kick sweep above his hair. He countered with a quick roundhouse kick, aiming for Desmond's side, but Desmond vanished into a speck of light before the blow could land.
"You honestly think you can win this?" Desmond taunted, reappearing a few meters away. "You're throwing your life away just so some girls can find a doctor. Are you trying to be a hero? Because this is just ridiculous. You're human, like me, yet you risk it all to let them save a woman who probably doesn't even appreciate it. You're not selfish, sure, but that doesn't make you admirable. After all, you're still a pirate. A criminal of the seas."
Temoshí's eyes narrowed, a cold fire burning behind his gaze. As he stood, ready for the next strike, he spoke with calm defiance, "You think this is about impressing them?" he growled. "This isn't about charm or making myself look good. This is about something you'll never understand."
Desmond flickered in and out of light, his smirk mocking. "Oh? Enlighten me, then. You're literally risking everything for a woman you barely know. I can't fathom why you're throwing your life away over something like that."
Temoshí's fists clenched. His voice was low but filled with a quiet intensity. "It's not about proving anything to you, or anyone else for that matter. I'm not here to be a hero. I'm here to do what's right. And when people need help, I'll be damned before I turn my back on them just because it's easier."
Desmond let out a sharp laugh, clearly unimpressed. "How noble," he sneered. "You're a pirate, nothing more than a criminal. And yet here you are, trying to make it sound like you're some sort of saint. You think you're any different from the rest of us?"
Temoshí didn't flinch. He stared Desmond down, his voice unwavering. "I don't care what you think of me. I care about what's right, not titles or who calls me a criminal. This isn't about being a saint or making the right decisions in your eyes. It's about doing what has to be done, no matter how hard or painful it is."
Desmond's face twisted with frustration. "So you're just going to keep playing the martyr, huh?" he spat, raising his hand and charging it with more yellow energy. "It's pathetic. You'll die for your so-called 'cause.' You'll die for these strangers, and for what? Nothing changes. You're just like the rest of us. Lost."
Temoshí's gaze hardened, his chest swelling with purpose. "I'm not lost. I'm standing for something. I'll fight for what's right, even if I have to stand alone." He lowered into a fighting stance, his muscles coiled and ready. "I'm not asking you to understand. But I won't stop—ever."
Desmond's frustration boiled over, and with a shout, he surged forward, his body blurring with speed as he launched himself at Temoshí with deadly intent. But Temoshí stood firm, knowing one thing for certain: he would never back down.
Desmond scoffed, his tone laced with contempt. "I suppose it's easy to make sense of things when you've already made your mind up. Your ally, the one who had her neck sliced, I can understand why you'd fight for her. But trusting a random, homeless girl like that needle-wielding one? You don't even know if she's truly on your side. Maybe she's just like everyone else you've met on this island—a witch in disguise, ready to betray you at the first chance. After all, you saw what that needle girl did to your friend. Stopping death with a needle? Please. A simple needle can't save someone from a slice to the neck."
Temoshí's eyes remained cold, his body poised for any movement. He didn't flinch, his voice calm and deliberate as he responded. "If she's going to betray me, then answer me this: Why is she the only one with visible injuries, with stitches, and scars all over her body? I've seen no one else with anything remotely close to that. Not even your royal guards, or the others you work with. Not a single wound. Is that because she was mistreated? Or maybe it's because someone had a personal hand in hurting her? Was it Hollow? Or was it you?" Temoshí's eyes burned with a fierce determination as he pressed on, "Or was it you all who messed up her pretty face?"
Desmond stiffened at the question, his eyes narrowing, but Temoshí could tell that his words were hitting their mark. For all Desmond's bravado, the pain and uncertainty in his past actions seemed to linger just beneath the surface. The truth about who was responsible for the needle girl's scars—and why—was something Desmond didn't want to face.
Temoshí stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension. "You can keep spouting your nonsense, Desmond, but the truth is clear. You may not care about the people you hurt, but I do. And that's something you'll never understand."
Desmond gritted his teeth, his energy crackling with annoyance. "You think you have it all figured out? Keep playing the righteous knight, but you're just as much a part of this mess as I am," he sneered. "And at the end of the day, you're just another pirate in a sea of lies."
Temoshí stood his ground, unfazed. "Maybe," he said, "but I know where I stand. And I'll fight for those who need it, no matter who you think I am."
With those words hanging in the air, Desmond's expression faltered, but only for a moment. He was clearly still working to control his temper, knowing that Temoshí's words were starting to erode his confidence. The fight wasn't just physical now—it was becoming personal. And Temoshí wasn't going to back down.
To be continued...