A few moments had silently crept by since Yasushi had found himself within the sterile confines of the hospital. The sparse activity in the place worked in his favor, as he was swiftly attended to by the doctor on duty. Yasushi, now resting on the standard issue hospital bed, found himself engulfed in a blanket of monotony, the quiet hum of the room amplifying his sense of isolation as he awaited the arrival of his friends.
The doctor, a man whose face bore the weary lines of experience, addressed Yasushi with a blend of sternness and relief. "Young man, you're fortunate. Had the injury penetrated your hand at a different angle, you might have faced a loss of function. I urge you, do not engage in such reckless behavior again."
Yasushi responded with a nervous chuckle, the kind that hinted at both acknowledgment and a hint of defiance. He nodded, saying, "I get it, doc. I really do. I'll be more careful," though a small part of him questioned his ability to adhere to such a vow.
The doctor, exhaling a breath that spoke volumes of his exasperation, gave Yasushi a gentle yet firm tap on the head with his clipboard — a gesture that was half admonishment, half reluctant fondness — before exiting the room, leaving Yasushi with one last reminder of his words.
A haze of thoughts clouded Yasushi's mind as he glanced at his injured hand. He muttered under his breath, almost as if testing the waters of his own recklessness, "Can I call this cool or stupidity?" The pain was a constant companion, sharp and unyielding, yet he managed to clutch his hand, stifling any verbal indication of his discomfort.
Suddenly, the tranquil silence of the hospital room was shattered by Furuya's exuberant entrance. "Dude!" he hollered, making a beeline for Yasushi with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a loyal dog. Just before he could pounce, Xinyi's hand shot out, grabbing his collar and halting his movement so abruptly it nearly caused him to choke. "Blegh!?" he sputtered, eyes wide in surprise.
With a voice edged in exasperation, Xinyi scolded, "He's injured, Furuya. Do you really think jumping on top of him is a good idea? Where's your common sense?"
"I get it, I get it! Just let go of me, you're choking me!" Furuya protested, his hands flailing as he tried to extricate himself from Xinyi's firm grip.
After what felt like an eternity, Xinyi finally released him, but not without a resigned sigh and a swift smack to the side of his head for good measure. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder about you," she muttered, shaking her head.
As the group approached Yasushi, he observed them with a mixture of mild amusement and weary fondness. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a subtle smile, the pain momentarily forgotten amidst the familiar, chaotic energy of his friends.
"So much for peace and quiet," Yasushi murmured, a wry smile playing on his lips as he directed his gaze at Furuya. "And to answer your question, I'm fine. Just a stab wound in the hand. Not the face, not the head, not the heart. You guys are seriously overreacting."
Furuya, his eyes narrowing in a blend of concern and disbelief, shot back, "You're the one underreacting. I mean, regardless of where someone gets stabbed, especially with a knife that big, normal people would panic, man."
With an almost theatrical nonchalance, Yasushi shrugged and lifted his injured hand, displaying it like a badge of honor. The sight of the still-oozing wound made Furuya wince. "Can you move it?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
"Yeah, I managed to clench my hand before you guys barged in," Yasushi replied, his grin broadening, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"You're insane," Furuya said, his voice a hushed whisper of awe and horror. "I wouldn't dare do that. The pain would be unbearable."
Yasushi chuckled, the sound light and carefree, contrasting sharply with the grim reality of his injury. "So, are you allowed to go home or do you have to stay here?" Furuya asked, still eyeing the wound with a mixture of fascination and fear.
"I can leave whenever I want. I was just waiting for you guys," Yasushi said, beginning to rise from the bed. But before he could fully stand, Yinhaie stepped forward, gently but firmly pressing him back down onto the bed.
"Not so fast," she said, her voice carrying a soft, yet unyielding authority. "You need to let the doctor give you the all-clear first. We don't want you collapsing on the way home."
"I got stabbed in the hand..." Yasushi muttered with a tinge of irritation, his eyes fixed on Yinhaie with a mixture of annoyance and resignation.
"Regardless of your feelings on the matter, we still need to follow the proper protocol before I can agree to anything," Yinhaie responded with an air of unwavering authority. "I am the sole adult here, and your parents entrusted me with your care. I've already informed them of the situation, and they have given me their explicit permission to ensure you are properly treated."
Yasushi's shoulders slumped, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he surrendered to the inevitable. "Whatever..." he mumbled, allowing himself to fall back onto the bed. He gazed at the bland, featureless ceiling, the white tiles blurring into an indistinct pattern.
Turning his head slightly, Yasushi called out, "Furuya, you should probably head home. Your parents might be getting worried."
Furuya shifted uneasily, acknowledging Yasushi's words with a nod. "I did let them know, but... yeah, I should go. My phone's been buzzing non-stop, probably from my mom." He stepped aside to check his messages, his eyes widening at the flurry of notifications. With a resigned groan, he turned back to Yasushi. "Yep, definitely my mom. I should get going before she starts panicking."
Furuya let out a long, drawn-out sigh before speaking, "I should get going. I'll see you... well, hopefully tomorrow, man." He gave a half-hearted wave to Yasushi before making a hurried exit, his footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway.
As the door swung shut behind him, the room sank into a deep, contemplative silence. Laura, mirroring Furuya's sentiment, exchanged glances with Xinyi, who promptly offered to drive her home. With quiet murmurs of agreement, the two girls slipped out of the room, leaving behind an air of muted tension.
Yinhaie remained, her gaze lingering on Yasushi for a few moments, a mixture of concern and contemplation playing across her features. Her eyes then drifted to Jingliu, who had maintained a stoic silence throughout the entire exchange.
"I'll go check with the doctor. I won't be long," Yinhaie announced, her voice steady but laced with an underlying current of worry. She exited the room, the door clicking softly behind her.
Once they were alone, Jingliu moved closer to Yasushi with a delicate grace, her presence almost ethereal. She gently took hold of his injured hand, examining it with a tenderness that spoke volumes. Yasushi watched her in silence, the unspoken understanding between them hanging in the air like a fragile thread.
"You're too reckless for your own good," Jingliu whispered, her voice carrying a blend of concern and mild reproach as she looked at Yasushi.
Yasushi, meeting her gaze with an unflinching intensity, replied with a faint, defiant smile, "It's in my blood, bones, and soul." His words, though confident, held an undertone of resignation, as if acknowledging a truth he couldn't escape.
Jingliu's expression remained stern, her eyes narrowing in an unamused glare. Yasushi chuckled softly, a sound that broke the tension and signaled his acceptance of her admonishment. The room then lapsed into another profound silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.
Breaking the quiet, Jingliu stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Yasushi's head, drawing him into a tender, encompassing embrace. His face was gently pressed against her chest, her warmth enveloping him as she rested her chin atop his head.
"The whole world felt like it froze when I saw you get stabbed," Jingliu murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "Even if it was just in the hand, it felt surreal... as if time itself had stopped."
Yasushi remained silent, absorbing her words, the gravity of the moment sinking in. Jingliu continued, her tone softening but retaining a hint of urgency, "I wouldn't have done that, and it wouldn't have been my first thought either. Why did you do it?" Her question lingered, an open-ended inquiry into his motivations, seeking an explanation that could make sense of his impulsive act.
"Instinct? That's all that was running through my mind," Yasushi began, his voice low and measured, as if weighing each word carefully. "Even if she didn't seem like it to you guys, Mizahara was quick and surprisingly agile. Trying anything else on her, she would have likely dodged or avoided it. I figured the best move was to grab her hand and just punch her."
Despite his confident explanation, Yasushi couldn't shake the uncertainty lurking beneath his words. In truth, he hadn't had much time to think or strategize before the police intervened. The real reason behind his actions remained elusive, buried somewhere in the tangled web of his subconscious. Was it a desire to feel the familiar sting of pain from a past life, or simply a reckless impulse in the heat of the moment? Even he wasn't sure.
But he knew Jingliu well enough to understand that she wouldn't be satisfied with an answer steeped in ambiguity. So, he offered her a rationale that sounded logical, hoping it would suffice. Jingliu's eyes narrowed with a trace of skepticism, but after a moment, she seemed to accept his explanation, albeit reluctantly.
Jingliu let out a soft sigh, her lips parting as if to continue their conversation. However, the door swung open, and Yinhaie stepped into the room, her presence a sudden interruption.
"You've been given the all-clear, Yasushi," Yinhaie announced, her voice calm and steady. "We can leave right now if you'd like. But the doctor made it clear that you need to take it easy to let your hand heal. If you overexert yourself, it'll take longer to recover."
Jingliu slowly disentangled herself from Yasushi, stepping back to give him space. Yasushi, feeling the absence of her warmth, pushed himself up from the bed, his movements slow and cautious. He wobbled slightly, the disorienting effects of the hospital stay still clinging to him, but after a moment he steadied himself.
"Well," he said, his voice carrying a note of determined weariness, "I want out of here. Let's go."